


The Broken Children

by Dark_Sparkles



Category: The Poppy War - R. F. Kuang
Genre: A lot of murder actually, And actually there are TEN chapters but I did the formatting wrong so it only says one sorry, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Boys Kissing, But mostly it's all paaaain, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Drugs, For the most part, Genocide, Have I tagged blood enough?, Heavy Angst, It's In A Dream, M/M, MAJOR THE DRAGON REPUBLIC SPOILERS, Multi, Murder, Okay but seriously: What counts as "Graphic Depictions Of Violence??", Oooo look at this tag I just found, Soooo much angst, Suicide, Three days in the valley, Which is definitely NOT in a dream, Yeah that's more like it, blood in general, but not really, fluff if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28457778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sparkles/pseuds/Dark_Sparkles
Summary: One broken boy, the weight of the world’s destiny on his shoulders, the betrayal of his own clan on his mind, and the deaths of everyone he loves in his heart, sets off on a quest to save planet Earth from its impending doom at the hands of the gods. It isn’t the first time Chaghan Suren has faced the divine that shape and decimate his universe, but it’s the first time he’s fighting alone. He’s lost his mother, commander, and now his sister as well, and he’s determined to finish his long-since-started job in the mortal world before he departs this Earth for the spirit realm, where he hopes to find his loved ones again on the other side and ultimately rid himself of the petty world of men for the last time.But Chaghan’s final journey is disrupted with an unexpected turn of events that leaves him questioning everything and everyone he knows. As he traces his roots from the desertion that shattered his childhood to the mysterious disappearance of his commander in the year gone, Chaghan uncovers more about the shamans and power he thought he knew. The very people endangering the survival of his whole world might be the people closest to him, and he himself may be the only one left who can stop them.
Relationships: Chaghan Suren & Qara Suren, Chaghan Suren & Su Daji, Chaghan Suren/Altan Trengsin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	The Broken Children

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is a kind of long-ish fic I wrote for Chaghan because he deserves appreciation; nobody else seems to care about him besides me, Altan and Qara :'( And of course, all you fellow Chaltan writers and shippers: I just discovered this wonderous site believing I was the only one and now your writing is my daily fuel. 🖤🖤 Love you all.  
>   
> **This is actually my first fic on Archive, so apologies if the formatting is off or something.** (Okay I'm acknowledging right now, I KNOW it is, sorry.)  
>   
> So it's set around the beginning of the Burning God (ish. I hadn't read TBG yet at the time I wrote this fic, but it still works for the most part. Just use your imagination.), three/four months after the coup at Boyang. At least sometime in between the end of TDR and when Chaghan met back up with Rin in Dog Province in TBG. So right around when Chaghan had been up north trying to rally the Ketreyids back to his side. Or something. Idk the timelines perfectly yet. (But believe me, I'm trying. If anyone has wrangled all those wild battles and deaths/ages/family trees into something that makes relative sense, PLEASE post them, I will forever be in your debt.)  
> But first: Three things you should know:  
> 1\. This fic is canon compliant, MOSTLY. I do know that Daji would not have been Empress anymore after the battle at Arlong, but hey, I don’t think she would have given up her throne that peacefully. She’s in denial and still pretending she’s Empress, which is working just fine because she still has a lot of loyal followers. And yes, I also know that Sinegard was totally annihilated after the Federation’s initial attack, but let’s say that Nikara are very good at rebuilding entire cities very fast.  
> 2\. All of the characters are way too nice. (+ too openly emotional probably ha) I can't write mean characters to save my life. (Waaaaay too nice.) Especially Altan and Chaghan. They're both such total jerks in *reality but not really in my fic so apologies in advance.  
> And 3. This fic is kinda sorta boring for the first four chapters so PLEASE stick with it, I promise your patience will be rewarded. :) And this is actually a draft still for a bigger project I'm working on, so if you're reading it, PLEASE RE-FRESH THE PAGE OFTEN; I'm making dozens of edits daily! Thank you!
> 
> Please enjoy! Or don't. That's fine too, but hopefully it's somewhat entertaining at least.
> 
> P.S. For those of you re-reading this, I've made some larger plot edits to chapters six and seven recently, just so you know. Both new scene changes are still drafts though - nothing's final for now. :)

The terrible fire of old regret is honey on my tongue

And I know I shouldn’t love you

I know I shouldn’t love you, but I do.

The days of our delights are poison in my veins

I know I shouldn’t love you

I know

I am not a fool entire

No, I know what is coming

I know I shouldn’t love you

But I do

- _Bitter Water_ , the Oh Hellos

# CHAPTER ONE

⋟⪼⪻⋞

**It never mattered how far** and fast Chaghan ran. The faces of the dead would always follow.

The swirling mist made it especially impossible to forget them. Silvery figures spun up to haunt him at every turn, inescapable in their perpetual appearance. A whipping braid. A twist of flame. Chaghan saw them everywhere now, and whether in smoke or fire, they would never let him forget what he had done.

And what he _hadn’t_ done.

Chaghan had been on the run for nearly three months now, providing his mind plenty of free rein for wandering through the past. He tried so very hard to keep his head utterly blank, but the whirling fog created a perfect canvas for the unwanted phantoms. They lurked out from every shadow, dominated every decision he ever made. They wouldn’t leave him for a single agonizing second. And most of the time, he didn’t want them to.

He would have given the universe for one last day with them. He would have sacrificed the cosmos for his mother’s barking laugh, his sister’s witty remarks, his commander’s rare smiles.

Chaghan’s guard slipped in his constant battle against the tears. He was so lost without them.

Literally, actually.

If he was being honest, Chaghan didn’t even know if he was heading in the right direction anymore. He had thought he was a fairly adequate navigator, but the fog had only thickened as he rode south, and although he’d lived in the Wudang Range for over half his life, the mountains were getting unsettlingly indistinguishable.

But if he was being _truly_ honest, that didn’t matter anyway.

He didn’t have anywhere to go.

Chaghan had lost everything and everyone in a single year. Every person he’d ever loved and who had loved him back had been murdered or sacrificed themselves for an Empire that meant less than nothing to Chaghan. He didn’t spare a second’s thought about returning to the Republic, assuming, of course, that there was a Republic left to return to. Regardless, there were a thousand reasons why that was out of the question. The Cike had been disbanded months ago, and if the Empire had anything to do about it, their bodies were lost somewhere at the bottom of the Western Murui.

Chaghan held no allegiance to anyone anymore. Long ago, truthfully, even his own clan had abandoned him, although, having been exiled to Nikan for a decade, he'd only just learned of it. After the coup at Boyang, he’d raced the insurgents over the Baghra and back to the desolate sands of his childhood in hopes of warning his tribe of the stolen power, only to find that they already knew. In fact, they had known for years. Most had turned to Bekter’s side years ago. The Ketreyids were tired of celestial knowledge and prophecies. They wanted raw power, not endless philosophy. And nothing stood in their way. Nothing had _ever_ stood in their way.

The Ketreyids were the most powerful beings on Earth. It had always been their role to protect the harmony between mortals and gods; they had governed all divine power summoned to the world for hundreds of years, culling and cultivating the balance. They saw the Earth on a larger scale than empires and dynasties, instead adopting the perspective of guardians of the world, obtaining a greater wisdom that grew with each generation, until they were raising shamans that wielded greater power at ten than the century-wizened sorcerers of old. The average decade-old Ketreyid child knew more of the cosmos than was held in the archive vaults of empires.

Chaghan’s tribe alone had capsized dynasties and raised regimes with actions no one else would have recognized for what they were. The rest of the world might have been oblivious, but the Ketreyids held an invisible monopoly over the Earth’s power, spiritual and political. After the centuries under their shelter, the world would fall to ruin if the Ketreyids deserted their duty.

And now, they had done exactly that, leaving their entire legacy of divination and abstract education to a single child: the lost nephew of the Hinterland’s last Great Khagan, son to the late warrior Khan of the Ketreyids, and the ultimate Seer to the realm of mortals.

In other words, Chaghan Suren.

Chaghan was the last advocate of the Old Guard, the last soldier for the pure faith, the cause that had first united the Ketreyids. He was the most talented Seer for decades, by nature and design, but even Chaghan could never have prophesied that his clan’s bond as the sole wardens of the higher power would eventually shatter, elevating him as the last defender for the world of the defenseless.

To sum it up, if the balance slipped and the gods descended on Earth with the screaming power and divine weight of the chaos that would bear down upon the mortals and beat their world to a fine dust, then it was Chaghan’s fault.

So. No pressure there.

Chaghan’s despair was suddenly severed clean when a shriek slashed through the morning mist.

He froze, jerking the warhorse up short. The wail was disturbingly human, but it had a shrill, sharp edge to it, the same ringing tone as the song of clashing metal, like a bronze gong struck with a sword, that Chaghan realized he recognized. He’d heard that scream before. Where had he heard that scream before?

Several silent minutes passed without a sound save the horse’s panting breaths, and finally, Chaghan steered it back around to start off again, trying to shake the odd feeling that he knew that shriek from somewhere.

Perhaps he had imagined it? It could very well have been a figment of his mind, like the figures in the mist. He strained to hear anything through the thick blanket of fog, but the only sound for miles around was the pounding of the warhorse’s hooves on the frozen dirt, and even that seemed muffled by the heavy mist. Chaghan cursed this mist for concealing the source of the raspy screech, trying in vain to see farther than twenty feet ahead.

It was several more minutes before the eerie call ripped over him again, closer than before. Just then, a memory tore through him, a ghosting sensation of pale, finely feathered wings brushing his neck. Chaghan went shock still. A moment later, he was certain he could hear faint wingbeats churning the fog. Chaghan shivered violently, recalling exactly where he’d heard that cry before.

A split second too late.

A streak of ghostly white shot past Chaghan’s left shoulder with a blood-curdling shriek, nearly knocking him to the ground.

Chaghan’s horse started, letting out a braying cry of its own and rearing. Chaghan was thrown from its back, landing hard enough to spot his vision. Before he could regain his breath, his warhorse had already bolted, vanishing into the mist.

 _Shit._ It took far more effort than it should have to sit up, and Chaghan desperately hoped he hadn’t broken anything. It wasn’t like he could just stroll into Sinegard for a physician. He was wanted everywhere. Hesperia and Mugen, for being a shaman. The Steppe, for opposing the rebels. And Nikan, for… he wasn’t sure why Su Daji hated him. But the hatred was there. She’d proved that several times over now.

Chaghan closed his eyes, wiping away old memories of glossy black hair and bright golden eyes, and tilted his head back to the ashen sky.

He hadn’t gotten a clear view of the silvery creature, but he knew precisely what it was.

Chaghan hadn’t seen the white raven since Altan’s death.

He never thought it would come back. It couldn’t possibly mean anything anymore. Not after his clan turned. Not after Altan…

A fresh wave of grief racked Chaghan’s body, and he suppressed a sob, drawing his knees to his chest and burying his face. He didn’t know how long he stayed wrapped in that miserable huddle, fighting down the ghosts of his past.

After what seemed like hours, Chaghan lifted his reddened gaze at the ruffling sound of feathers.

The raven was perched before him, staring up at Chaghan expectantly.

“Get lost.” He snapped, but the bird didn’t budge, twitching its snowy head to the side. “Leave me alone.” Chaghan sighed. “He’s gone.” His voice broke, and Chaghan’s face crumpled with pain as he struggled to dam a flood of tears. “He’s _gone._ ”

The raven hopped closer and croaked curiously. Chaghan really, _really_ wanted to snap its neck. The only thing stopping him was the glare he knew his sister would have given him.

“Just leave me alone.” He choked out, stumbling to his feet and backing away. _“Get away_ _from me!”_

When Chaghan raised his voice, the raven took flight with a strident screech, launching itself for his neck.

He screamed, throwing up his hands to block the razor-sharp talons aiming for his throat, but he wasn’t fast enough. Inch-long claws whipped across his face, ripping over the bridge of his nose and tearing perilously close to his right eye. Chaghan cried out and the raven cawed shrilly, banking around and soaring away on wings splattered with dark scarlet.

The twin screams of both bird and boy raised shouts from somewhere beyond the maze of mist. Chaghan could hear a clatter of swords and the drumming of approaching hooves. Before he had the time to entertain the prospect of running, Chaghan was surrounded by a squadron of Militia soldiers mounted on white stallions, their dozen longbows drawn tight and aimed perfectly for his heart.

Chaghan raised his blood-slicked hands in immediate surrender.

“Stand down!” the unit’s leader barked, although Chaghan clearly already had. “State your name, alliances, and business with the capital.”

 _Sinegard?!_ Chaghan was much farther south than he’d thought. Glancing around at the soldiers hemming him in, Chaghan gauged that even if he tried summoning something that would be very destructive, very fast, like a bolt of lightning, twelve Militia-issue arrows would find his chest before the strike found their owners.

Thinking fast, he looked back to their captain. “I don’t… speak Nikara?” He stammered in the ancient Ketreyid language, hoping they didn’t see straight through him.

“Eh?” The leader cocked his head, bowstring loosening.

“Hinterlander, sir,” the soldier to his right supplied. “That’s him.”

“ _That’s_ Suren?” The leader’s eyes narrowed. “Alright. You heard her. No permanent damage.”

Chaghan watched the exchange with horror. If random patrol groups knew of him, that meant very, very bad things.

The lieutenant sighed dramatically. “You’re no fun.” But he complied with a smirk, whipping a unique arrow from his quiver. He moved so fast that Chaghan barely understood what was happening until the dart struck his neck.

Chaghan blinked once before crumpling to the frosty soil.

The faces of the soldiers swam before him, spinning together into the entire spectrum of colors, twisting and spiraling in a weaving dance before sinking into a deep black, a black dark as the glinting eyes of the cursed raven, dark as the twisting past of the young Seer.

Dark as whatever fate awaited him now.

⋟⪼⪻⋞

**Chaghan awoke to a world** nearly as dark as the one he’d left.

He couldn’t say he was all that shocked to find himself curled in the center of a cramped cell, chained to the roughly cut stone floor of the distinctly recognizable Imperial Palace’s prison. He wouldn’t have preferred it, no, but he definitely wasn’t surprised.

After his years with the Empire’s leading league of assassins, he was familiar with this particular dungeon, having paid a visit on several unsavory occasions to deposit the select targets the Empress wanted to have some fun with before they were disposed of. He thought this would have given him an advantage, but after a quick scan of the dripping walls and iron bars, he realized this was no sector he’d ever seen. The pair of soldiers garbed in the Imperial scarlet confirmed his suspicion that this was most definitely Sinegard, but where exactly, he hadn’t the faintest idea. It didn’t really matter. Chaghan was no escape artist.

Chaghan’s vision was hazy, colors swirling and bleeding together in a hypnotic way that suggested he’d been drugged several times over since losing consciousness. He studied the surrounding room, split with a row of thin bars separating him from the guards. An odd sort of metal gag was fastened around his jaw, and his wrists were bound with a complicated lock that Chaghan didn’t feel like investigating.

He was numb to it all. He had no reasons left to live, and he couldn’t care less what the Empress did with him now. Altan was dead. Qara was dead. The Ketreyids were as good as destroyed. Everyone and everything he’d ever cared about was gone. He might as well join them. It was a pathetic notion, but he didn’t have the energy to be disgusted with his own pitiful determination right then.

The scraping clink of his chains alerted the guards, and they glanced up at him with identical sneers of revulsion. He ignored them, pretending to be fascinated with the bizarre way half of the wall behind him was oddly blackened, as though scorched by fire.

Actually. That _was_ really bizarre.

“She awakens.” The squatter guard squinted. “Oh wait- he. Tiger’s tits. You’re a scrawny one.”

Which was frustratingly true; Chaghan probably weighed no more than Ramsa, despite his being nearly twenty-three. He almost snapped something back about how the guard had more than enough heft for the both of them, before remembering he was muzzled. Chaghan settled for a murderous glare instead.

The shorter guard glared right back, smirking. “So. What’s with him?”

His companion shrugged. “Not a clue. Empress sent out the order for him a couple weeks back. Must be special, if she’s so keen to get her hands on him.”

Chaghan’s head jerked up at the mention of the Empress. She wanted _him,_ specifically? It hadn’t been a shock that the patrols had found him, weak and off guard as he’d been, and so close to the city walls too, but he hadn’t known they had been scouting explicitly for him for weeks. A tremor rolled up his spine. _The Vipress_. The last time they’d clashed, he’d barely escaped with his sanity, and that wasn’t likely to happen again. This time, the Empress knew of his presence. In fact, she’d demanded it. That sent him spiraling back through the dozen rising questions, but he pushed them down, focusing on the soldiers. Perhaps they knew something about his apparently intentional capture.

“ _That’s_ the one Shrang was going on about?” the first guard muttered. “The one his unit found up in the valleys? Why would they bother with this sack of bones?”

“They say he’s Hinterlander. Powerful one too, I guess. I wouldn’t touch him, Laung.”

The first soldier had trailed closer, running his knuckles along the bars in an eerie knocking rhythm. “Afraid of this beanpole, Tsoki? Just keep him drugged.” He knelt before the cage, retrieving a small box from inside his uniform that rattled slightly. Chaghan shrank back, evading his grasp, but the guard grabbed ahold of his lengthy braid and yanked him against the bars. Chaghan cried out when his ribs, bruised spectacularly from when the horse had bucked him, struck cold metal. The guard grinned maliciously while Chaghan struggled feebly against him. “They say shamans go rabid all doped up. Eh, pretty boy?”

Chaghan glowered at him and the guard sank a thick needle into his neck. Chaghan gradually went slack as the poppy mixed with his blood.

“Any more than yourself subject to the same circumstances, Laung?” The other guard smirked.

“Shut up.” The soldier growled, dropping Chaghan’s limp form to the stone and turning back to the door. “What does she want him for anyway? Single least threatening creature I’ve ever seen. That thing couldn’t outrun a rock.”

Chaghan was fighting for every second, but he could feel his body surrendering to the opiates. He had to hold on. The guards had information he couldn’t earn on his own, and he didn’t want to go into any upcoming audiences with the Empress blind.

“Oh, I don’t know.” The taller guard mused. “Empress said something about being an… _incentive_ for the prisoner.”

Chaghan’s vision was slipping, but he heard a snort. “ _Which_ prisoner? She’s not exactly short at the moment.”

“You know, the one they all talk about. The beast. Haven’t you seen it? Those _eyes._ ” The soldier shuddered. “The officers were talking, and I heard last week when Enkhtuya tried to feed it…”

But whatever he said next was lost to the pulsing murk of the opium, and Chaghan succumbed to the swirling darkness.

# CHAPTER TWO

⋟⪼⪻⋞

**“Up, Naimad!”**

The crack of a harsh voice through the haze of drugs was excruciating. Everything was too bright, despite the fact that the only source of light in the room was a dim lantern swinging in the grasp of a new guard. The other side of the bars was now crowded with soldiers clad in the distinguishing scarlet and gold armor of the Imperial Guard, the Empress's personal security. 

Chaghan, still far too high to react, was dragged to his feet by the soldiers from before, blinking rapidly.

“You two.” Another guard gestured to the pair restraining his arms. “Unbind him.”

“Sir, we were instructed-”

“Change of plans. Empress's orders. The prisoner isn’t cooperating. The Empress thinks that it might need some… ah… persuasion.”

“What does that have to do with unchaining him?”

“You think this twig could do any real damage?” The guard sneered. “Just shut up. We’re to report to the throne room in ten.”

The unit marched him through a labyrinth of winding tunnels that set Chaghan’s mind spinning all over again. His guards had finally conceded, and he was free of both the shackles and the gag, thank the gods, but this was compensated for by the abundance of soldiers. He felt comically honored, amused that the Empress sent a dozen guards just for _him_. She mustn’t have known that without his sister, he was practically useless, spiritually and physically alike. Not that he’d ever been much use physically.

After several flights of stairs and a dozen corridors lined with soldiers, the hallways started to fade from rough, dark stone to flawless white marble and then to gilded wood paneling as the procession drew closer to the center of the palace.

A low murmur of voices drifted from beyond a towering set of double doors, thrown wide and lying in wait at the end of the passage. They loomed like a set of gleaming teeth framing the mouth of a beast, the variety of which should have been immured in the Chuluu Korikh.

As they approached the massive throne room, Chaghan could begin to make out separate voices. He immediately recognized the rhythmic flowing tone of the Empress herself.

“Don’t you lie to me. You’ve been there. You proved what you can do.” Su Daji’s words were sharp, demanding, but her voice was calm, hypnotic, as if she were speaking to a spooked child. She very well could be. Chaghan knew that she would stop at nothing to get what she wanted, even if that meant torturing her youngest subjects.

 _I’m probably next._ Chaghan thought as his escorts broke their perfect formation, two of them roughly grabbing his arms and dragging him forward to the grand entrance of the chamber. Chaghan could see directly down the center of the room to the throne and surrounding council seats. The throne room was exceptionally wide, meant to be converted into a smaller but grander ballroom if needed. The slim portion of the room that Chaghan _could_ see was teeming with guards. Not a child, then. Someone of importance. He didn’t waste energy on guessing who. He would find out, if not be thrown in with, the prisoner soon enough.

Although he couldn’t find her in the crowd before him, Chaghan could hear Daji’s soft footsteps echoing across the gleaming tile, circling whomever she was interrogating. She was just out of his line of vision, somewhere off to the left. He knew struggling wouldn’t get him anywhere, but even so, he strained against the guards, trying to catch a glimpse of the scene around the corner.

“How many got out?” Daji murmured. “We found one. He was ever so useful, and I’m wondering just where to find more.” Silence, but for the slithering of silk along the marble. The Vipress returned to her taunting. “They defeated him, you know. Not to the death, of course, but close enough. Do you want to know who did it?” More silence.

Chaghan hadn’t been this confused since Rin had reported Altan’s death. Now he’d been away for months, traveling up in the farthest north after the death of his bonded twin, Qara. He still wasn’t used to their separation. Neither of them could remember a time when they couldn’t feel their pair’s emotions and pain as well as their own. Now he was half broken, a shell of a person without his sister's bond, the constant pressure of her mind against his. He’d always thought himself so powerful, and at the time it was true, but without Qara, he was nothing. He had tried ascending to the spirit plane to cast a Hexagram several times since her death, but he couldn’t take the pain of reality. In the years before, he’d always been tethered to her, guided by her. He couldn’t face the fact that she was gone.

The snap of Daji’s fingers brought him back. “Look at me. _Where are the others?_ I know what your plan was. There’s more.” When there came no response, Daji halted suddenly, footsteps silenced. “I’m going to ask this one more time. How. Many.” The prisoner said nothing. Chaghan’s mind was still fuzzy from the sedative they’d given him, and he wondered dully if there even _was_ a prisoner. He wouldn’t have been all that surprised if the Vipress had finally gone mad and taken to interrogating the air.

An ear-splitting crack hit the air, slicing the silence like a blade. No, more like a whip. Someone screamed and dark blood splattered across the glistening tile. Chaghan jerked as if he’d felt the blow himself. He knew that scream, but he couldn’t quite place it. His mind spun, trying to keep up under the dull weight of the drugs. What was it that Daji said? Somebody knew where some people were, one of whom had been killed— no— _close_ to killed—

A voice pierced the lull and Chaghan twisted to face the sound. Daji was speaking again.

“Tell me, child,” she whispered, sickly sweet.

Chaghan strained to hear her; he needed all the information he could get. He inched ever so slightly closer to the door, hoping the guards wouldn’t notice. The two restraining him had let go, and were now staring straight ahead, unblinking at his sides. Another inch. Just a little closer, and the figures to the left would be in full view. If he could only see past the towering carved doors…

A second crack exploded through the vast throne room, causing Chaghan to recoil involuntarily, stumbling back into the nearest guard. The massive man reacted in the blink of an eye, grabbing Chaghan and instinctively throwing him to the floor. Chaghan landed on his wrist, hard, and he thought he heard it snap. When he made a move to get up, the guard kicked him back. He bit back a cry of pain when the guard's foot connected with his chest.

“Don’t move,” the guard growled.

From his place sprawled on the tile, Chaghan was doing his best to appear unshaken. “Shan’t,” he said, but it came out more of a hiss. His wrist was definitely broken, but despite its keening for attention, Chaghan shoved the pain away. He had to focus. He had to figure out what was going on in the chamber beyond.

“You know what I’m talking about.” The Empress had resumed her circling, shoes tapping lightly. “Answer me, Speerly. I can do this all day.”

A spasm ran through Chaghan at the name. _RIN. SHE HAS RIN._ He wondered just what in the names of the gods had been going on while he had been gone. The only thing he knew for sure was that the Republic had won. But this didn’t seem like victory. Vaisra’s most prized soldier, captured? _Or perhaps,_ he thought, _traded._ The Republic hadn’t been in much of a place to beat the Empire, but would Daji accept defeat if it meant having the last Speerly in her command? Would Vaisra ever give up such a valuable trophy?

Chaghan didn’t have time to ponder the possibilities. Rin was captured by the Empire. _He_ was captured by the Empire. He couldn’t fathom who else Daji might have. The remainder of the Cike? The Chen boy? Qara? Oh… wait _—no…_

Daji’s voice once again drew him from his ever-deepening spiral.

“Are you going to be any help at all, Speerly?” She asked patiently, but Chaghan could make out faint annoyance in her voice.

“Not to you,” a hoarse voice muttered. Chaghan tensed. Did Rin know he was there? Perhaps he could get a message to her somehow. If she still had any sort of drug in her, he might, _might_ be able to call out to her mentally without the rest of the chamber hearing. _With the possible exception of Daji herself,_ Chaghan realized. No one but the gods knew the full extent of the Vipress's power, and Chaghan didn’t feel like finding out right now. If he could just get around the corner, he could see them.

“What was that?” Daji asked softly, toying with Rin. Chaghan imagined her transfixing smile.

“No.” The other voice spoke again, firmer this time. It was rough and gravely from days of disuse. _How long has she been here?_

“Would you be any help if I gave you _this?”_ Chaghan froze. Opium. It had to be. The best bribe for a Speerly.

The whole room held its breath for a long, agonizing second. _She wouldn’t._ But Chaghan truly didn’t know. She had been off it for months, but any number of things could have sparked Rin's addiction again.

“What part of ‘no’ do you not understand?”

Chaghan sighed imperceptibly, pleased with the girl for the first time since they met. Altan would never have turned away the poppy. The memory stung and he pushed it away violently. He didn’t have time for that now; what mattered was Rin. He focused on reading her voice as he usually would expressions.

“No?” The Empress sounded pleasantly confused, but Chaghan knew she was boiling.

“What are you playing at, Daji?”

Chaghan frowned. That didn’t _sound_ like Rin. Not even close. It was far too deep, and not nearly as annoying. He shook his head. It had to be her. Whatever they’d done to her could have changed her in any number of ways, and how her voice sounded should be the last thing he was worried about.

“I’m not playing, Speerly, and neither should you.” The whip came down again and Rin roared louder this time, unable to muffle it. “How many got out?”

“I’m not telling you that,” the voice gasped.

“Well, you should know that I honestly don’t mind.”

Chaghan was bewildered. All this for nothing? Daji took pleasure in other’s pain, but she didn’t torture people for fun. The Vipress's actions always had a deeper purpose, but what exactly that was, Chaghan had no idea.

Daji continued sweetly. “The gods will do as the gods like, and when our paths cross, I will see to them myself. But for the meantime, I need an army. Do you understand what I’m talking about?”

There was silence from the room beyond. Of course she did, and Chaghan did too. All the pieces were falling into place. The gods. Rin had freed Feylen long ago. Well, truly, Altan had freed the monstrous wind god, even after Chaghan demanded he shouldn’t a thousand times over. Before they were captured by the Federation. Far before Vaisra and the Dragon Republic got involved.

For some wild reason Chaghan would have to decipher later, the Empress couldn’t get into the Chuluu Korikh. So, she needed Rin to.

What Daji needed was an army.

Specifically, an army of gods.

Chaghan could have screamed in frustration. This was not a new madness by any means.

“So, will you release them for me, little one? We all know you can,” Daji murmured, and Chaghan swore that he could feel the pull of her seductive eyes through the wall.

“Can’t just do it yourself, you witch?”

“No one can. Not after what _you_ did to that place,” Daji clipped, glossing over the subject. “I want answers now, Speerly. Loose the gods and I will give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

“No.” The other voice again. “I made that mistake once. Never again.”

Daji was undeterred. “Then I’ll torture you until you go insane.”

“Most people think I’m insane already.”

“I’ll torture everyone you love.”

Must-be-Rin heaved a long, shaky breath, and Chaghan thought she might break.

“Everyone I love is dead.”

Daji’s laugh sounded like flowing water, terrible and beautiful at the same time. It sent shivers down Chaghan’s spine. “Oh, you poor, miserable boy.”

Chaghan’s eyes bulged and he sat bolt upright, not bothering to care about the guard’s reaction.

“Bring in the Naimad.” Daji called from the end of the expansive chamber. Chaghan let his guards yank him to his feet and haul him toward the throne room, ignoring the razors of pain streaking up his arm. His mind was spinning a hundred miles a minute. He wouldn’t allow himself even a glimmer of hope. _No. It’s not possible._ Even for someone so powerful as _him,_ no one had ever managed to reincarnate themselves. But suppose they’d never died in the first place…

The guard who had attacked him dragged Chaghan around the massive rosewood door that had been blocking the entire episode from his view. Before he could take anything in, the soldier twisted Chaghan’s arms behind his back painfully and kicked the backs of his knees, dropping him to the floor instantly. Chaghan gasped from the impact and realized he was trembling.

He had to look. He couldn’t look.

When he finally forced his eyes up, he had to shut them again. _Not real. Not real. NOT. REAL. It’s an illusion; she wants you to give in. Don’t believe it. Don’t fall for this._

And yet.

The Empress Su Daji stood several yards away, coiling a thin, golden whip in her hands. She was terrifyingly magnificent, as always, resplendent in a glittering jade gown spattered with blood. Her silky hair fell to her hips in a glossy, obsidian curtain, with several looping braids curled atop her head. A dainty crown nestled in her ebony hair, surprisingly modest for all the Vipress’s usual extravagance. But Su Daji did not need lavish clothes to be so heartbreakingly beautiful.

And at her feet, there was a man.

Chaghan’s breath caught.

Altan’s face was streaked with blood as if he were crying.

Shirtless, his back was slashed with long welts, gleaming crimson against his near midnight skin. Dozens of shallow cuts marked his arms and face. Some had re-opened old lab scars and were trickling more scarlet, as were his wrists, chained behind his back and rubbed raw from the rough manacles. His head was bowed, and when he looked up, true tears were clinging to his dark lashes.

Chaghan’s heart skipped a beat.

_Beautiful._

Chaghan’s mind still screamed _TRICK, LIE, DON’T BELIEVE THIS._ But the Speerly was unmistakable as his commander. _More_ than his commander.

Daji turned back to the task at hand, smile poisonous. Her teeth glinted like fangs in the golden light of a hundred chandeliers. “What was that about everyone you loved?”

Altan drew a ragged breath, glaring at the blood-soaked floor before Daji’s feet. “Don’t touch him.”

Daji grinned, malicious. “Works for me.” She lashed out with lithe, feline motions, bringing the whip down on his mutilated back.

Altan’s screams echoed around the massive throne room, reverberating horribly off the gilded stone walls.

Chaghan felt wretchedly helpless. His commander was miraculously resurrected, only to perish before his eyes, this time only steps away. And there was nothing, _nothing_ Chaghan could do. What were two cornered, bizarre children against the full might of the Nikara Empire, against the full might of Su Daji, whatever that might be.

He was paralyzed, searching for any possible escape and coming up empty-handed. He couldn’t locate any exits, excluding the heavily guarded one through which he'd been ordered. The room was thronged with soldiers, not to mention the ones forming a perfect circle around the action, closing them in with Daji. The sedative was wearing off, and everything felt sharper, more realistic. But that also meant he would soon gain access to the Pantheon again if he tried hard enough. If only he could call the gods with such destructive power as Altan. Wait—Altan. When was the last time they’d drugged him? Not long ago, clearly, since Daji was playing with him so fearlessly, with no regard for her own safety, but it might be just enough.

Daji knelt before Altan, emerald skirt pooling around her, and gently took his face in her hands. Altan didn’t resist, scarlet eyes flashing. “I’m warning you, Speerly. This is your last chance. Open the prison for me. That’s all.” She smiled innocently, easily convincing, as if setting the demons of the Chuluu Korikh on the Southern Empire just to win a war wasn’t completely insane. Although, of course, it may not be in Altan’s mind. Barely a year ago, that had been his plan exactly. Daji tipped his chin so that he had no choice but to look at her. “Open the mountain, and this is all over. You can have everything back. Open the mountain, and you can have _him_ back _._ ”

Altan’s gaze darted to Chaghan for a painful, stretching second. His fingers twitched behind his back. Once. Twice. Chaghan thought he saw the smallest flicker jump between his cuffed hands. So minor no one else caught it. But Chaghan read it clearly enough. He tensed, ready to spring.

Voice melodic and entrancing, Daji continued, believing she was swaying him when she was anything but. “Open the prison, and the Empire will know your name. The Speerly who won the war. You’ll be a hero. A legend.”

Chaghan couldn’t tell if he was imagining things, or if the blocky shackles circling Altan’s wrists were looking a little… red. The chains were tinting ruby at an almost imperceptible rate, but the color grew more intense with every word from Daji’s painted lips, until they seemed to glow. Chaghan glanced at the surrounding soldiers and guards packing the throne room, but none of them suggested any knowledge of the prisoner’s plan.

“You will be nearly a god yourself,” Daji purred, snapping Chaghan’s attention back to the picture before him.

“You’ve clearly never met mine if you think that’s a good thing,” Altan said coolly, and with that he rose smoothly to his feet, unblinking, the steel cuffs melting away. Twisting flames leaped from his bare shoulders, shooting high into the air.

Daji shrieked when the molten metal splashed her porcelain skin, scorching it black. “STOP HIM!” she screeched, stumbling to her feet. The surrounding soldiers raised their crossbows in a unified wave, taking aim with practiced, even motions, but holding their fire. Time seemed to slow as five guards sprung forward from their positions around the circle, boldly advancing on their prisoner. The dancing fire rolling from Altan’s form curled back, disappearing in a coil of flames, until there was hardly a flicker left but on Daji’s burning dress.

And Chaghan had thought himself confused before! Why was Altan holding back now? He didn’t give up like this, not without a fight. He’d never surrendered, not to anyone. The only person Chaghan had ever seen him back down for was Tyr, and even then, there was no _controlling_ him. So why tempt the Empress, just to submit to her again? Chaghan waited to see a plan in all this.

There was one. Altan hung his head, allowing the guards to catch his arms, yanking them back. As the soldiers swarmed him, he glanced at Chaghan, still kneeling on the floor. His expression was entirely too serene, as if he had complete control of the situation. But his eyes were still wild, alive, proof of the bonfire still raging deep within. _Get back,_ he mouthed.

Chaghan nodded slightly, pressing back into the guards behind him. They were too preoccupied with their somewhat torched Empress to notice, or even care.

A slight man in a Federation uniform scampered forward, syringe in hand. One of the guards grasped Altan’s hair, wrenching his head back violently.

That’s when he erupted, vivid flames pouring from every inch of his body. The flare instantly consumed the closest soldiers, flash-cremating them. The throne room, silent just moments before, was now in complete uproar, chaos exploding with shouts and the all-too-familiar screams of the burning. Chaghan thought he heard another screech too, higher than the rest, an ethereal, birdlike cry.

He ducked as swarms of arrows whizzed overhead, streaking toward the dark figure silhouetted by the inferno. Their wooden shafts fell in a shower of ashes and the metal heads didn’t fly much further, consistently falling short of their destination. Some of the finely made fire arrows made it past the initial blaze, only to be incinerated by the highly concentrated column of flames directly surrounding their target.

Altan, on the other hand, was winning. The primary burst of fire had dimmed, and the bravest warriors were now swiping at him with their longest blades, sabers swinging too close for comfort. But Altan didn’t need fire to beat the soldiers, despite their being the best in Nikan, the Empress's personal guards. Even weaponless, his skill was astounding. Chaghan watched as he trapped the blade of an arcing sword with his bare hands, twisting it out of its owner’s grasp with quick, fluid motions. The picture of grace, he twirled the weapon around and caught the intricately carved hilt, swinging it out and through the offender’s neck. Chaghan had to tear his gaze away. Altan could handle himself, Chaghan decided.

His job was to find the Vipress.

# CHAPTER THREE

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**It was nearly impossible** **to** scout out the Empress in the rising pandemonium, but Chaghan had a good idea of where she would be going. He scanned the room for alternate exits that weren’t as conspicuous as the main gate. Daji was known to slither away from heated battles when she wasn’t positioned to win, fleeing to let her people engage for her. She only picked fights she knew she could win, and she’d lost to Chaghan before.

Chaghan’s gaze lingered on the hulking throne, a monstrosity of gilded stone accented with solid gold adornments. It roughly resembled the shape of a chair, but only if you squinted from a distance. Instead, it favored the form of a coiling serpent, looped and twisting in impossible knots no snake could have achieved. It was horrifyingly beautiful, but far from practical in any way. Whoever had designed it seemed to have had absolutely zero knowledge of standard furniture. Although, Chaghan supposed, nothing much about Su Daji was standard.

A second before Chaghan turned to scan the rest of the room, his gaze snagged on a whisper of green silk slipping around the throne's edge, disappearing in a flash of jade.

_No guards? That’s going to be a mistake._

Ducking under clashing swords and raining arrows, Chaghan carefully picked his way through the frenzy, grateful for his slight form. When he finally reached the colossal throne and dipped behind one of the arching coils, the fury of the combat was so deafening that he was confident no one would pursue him.

And this, Chaghan realized, was as far as his plan got. Even shaken, Daji was more stable than him at any given moment, and he had to time this perfectly to survive the next few minutes sane. He could only hope to catch her with enough surprise to stun her for a couple of seconds. That was all he needed.

Deciding that it was now or never, Chaghan launched himself forward, rounding the gold-plated corner with little thought for the future. All he knew was that if he didn’t throw everything he had at her at once, Daji would win. 

But all of the outcomes and consequences that Chaghan had pondered when toying with the suicidal idea of attempting Daji’s assassination himself, were forgotten seconds later when he flung himself around the edge of the throne, expecting an immediate attack, but facing empty air.

Daji was gone.

Cursing colorfully, Chaghan spun around, searching the cavernous room for a hint of green. He found nothing but seas of red. The battle was a bloodbath, and the floor was already coated with crimson pools. It was a hundred men against one. And that one appeared to be conquering the lot of them rather effortlessly.

 _What did they give him?_ Chaghan mused darkly, returning to his goal: locating and hopefully assassinating one of the most powerful shamans in the world.

Creeping along the side of the throne, pressed to the stone so as not to get pin cushioned with the storm of arrows, Chaghan debated where she could have gone. The throne room only had one entrance, as far as he could tell, and there weren’t any other ways out, not even for a shaman. For all her strength, Daji couldn’t walk through walls.

At least probably not.

You really never knew with her.

That’s when Chaghan’s trailing fingers caught on a notch in the stone. A crack. No. A _door_. The unnatural split carved the perfect marble to the top of the seat’s embellished peak, vaulted in an even curve, and plummeted back down again on the other side.

The panel backing the throne was a passage. Of course.

Now that he examined it, the door was painfully obvious. Chaghan wondered how many, if any, in the legion of guards knew of it, and how much time he had before any one of them remembered their Empress. That was bound to be soon enough, and they would be hot on his trail in minutes if they’d been informed of the panel.

But there was only one way to find out, and Chaghan didn’t feel like waiting around for it. He focused instead on the build of the door, inspecting the immaculate black marble for a discernable handle. The lack of decoration set it apart from the elaborately adorned chamber and lavish throne. A simple stone slab consumed the better part of the throne’s back. Nothing to go on.

So. How to open it? It probably wasn’t a feat of strength, considering Daji’s slender frame. A puzzle then. Anyone’s guess as to what kind. Possibly, a combination of several points of contact, a sequence of various individual places that must be pressed in a certain order. Chaghan cursed. That could take hours to perfect, and he didn’t have that kind of time. Daji already had a good head start, and the advantage was greater with every passing second. He could still take Altan and escape now while he had the chance, but he needed to do this. He needed Daji to hurt, just as she had hurt Altan. _Worse_. For everything she’d done. For selling her Speerlies to the Federation. For _working with_ the Federation at all. For abandoning the Second at Golyn Niis. For abandoning _him_. There was no end to the Empress’s evils. And she was slinking away _again._

He slammed a fist against the edge of the panel in frustration and jumped back, startled when a groaning, grinding sound signified the opening of a newly exposed slot in the panel. A thin slab of stone had slid out of the way, revealing a small cavity in the otherwise unblemished marble, a secret compartment bare but for a circle of shallow indentations, like a pebble pressed into clay over and over. The impressions were all about the size of a fingertip, and each imprint matched the other’s dimensions perfectly, half spheres carved into the stone surface. Chaghan counted under his breath. He blinked. Counted again.

Nineteen. No. That had to be a coincidence. There had to be a logical explanation that he just wasn’t seeing.

So then why did _this_ not-so-logical explanation make so much sense?

_This doesn’t mean anything. It was just a convenient key that they all had. It’s nothing important. It doesn’t mean anything about her alliances._

But there was no denying it when Chaghan slipped the beaded bracelet from his wrist, holding it up to the circle of notches with shaking hands. The pale wooden beads cast dark shadows over the indents, matching them faultlessly. Matching _hers._

Chaghan remembered the cool weight of onyx in his palms as he presented Daji with the heavy bracelet he’d tailored for her, beaming with pride. He had worked on the gifts for months, scavenging materials from all over the camp when no one was looking; the gold-veined onyx had come from a ceremonial knife handle he knew wouldn’t be missed. Carving the small beads was the hard part; lapis for Riga, moonstone for Ziya, and pure onyx for Daji, his only real friend. There was Qara, of course, he’d made her one too, of deep, swirled blackwood. But other than his bonded twin, no one had ever been kind to Chaghan, aside from Kalagan, and even then kindness may have been an overstatement. Daji was closer than an older sister to Chaghan. He looked up to her as a hero, strived to emulate her with every bone in his body. Chaghan had never worshiped a single divine being, but to him, Daji was a goddess. Her desertion had struck him deeper than the death of his own mother.

But she’d kept it.

She’d kept his bracelet all these years. The others too. And they’d devised a system locked with the matching beads, which wasn’t a terrible idea, considering there were only five in existence. He wondered how they had prevented easily crafted fakes from working as well. But that wasn’t what mattered to him right then.

_She kept it._

He carefully fitted the beads of his own bracelet, a simple white pine, into the impressions in the marble. There was a second of silence, and Chaghan’s heart sank. But before he could curse the coincidence, the beads started to glow. It was a soft luminescence at first, but the light harshened, flaring a deep gold, the precise shade of the Vipress's eyes. A deep scraping rumble sounded from within the throne. Chaghan snatched the bracelet before the door slid into the throne and out of view. The entire panel had shifted to the right on an invisible track.

Peering farther into the tunnel, Chaghan frowned. The passage was carved straight forward through the throne. But there were no stairs leading the tunnel deeper. It went _straight._

Chaghan was thoroughly perplexed now. He risked a glance around the edge of the opulent seat to confirm he wasn’t hallucinating. He should have been able to see the passage from the outside. It should have plunged right through the front of the throne and into the ball room. But. It didn’t. This passage was impossible, some sort of terrifying illusion. It went into the throne, sure. But then it _kept going_. Far beyond the depth of the throne itself. Daji had escaped into… nothing? But it wasn’t nothing. Chaghan could walk right in. After ten paces, twice the actual length of Daji’s throne, Chaghan was assured of his theory.

This morning, he had been riding blindly, unsure of where to go, and sure that everywhere he _could_ go would throw him out or execute him. Not exactly great. But _now._

He was chasing an empress, one of the most powerful shamans of all time, into her own fortress, which apparently had impossible throne tunnels into nothingness itself.

Before slipping away into the shadows, he looked back, searching for a certain flaming warrior. It didn’t take long. In the center of the chaos, Altan was still holding out, frying anyone who came too close. He had acquired a long staff, and was wielding it like his previous weapon, the rare, Speerly-made trident. He glanced up suddenly, as if he had felt Chaghan’s gaze through the madness. The boys locked eyes over the tumultuous battle and understanding passed between them.

Altan broke the stare first, bringing up his staff to block a descending sword. He spun the rod with perfect elegance, fending off several soldiers at once while simultaneously keeping up the surging blaze, letting it devour body after body.

Chaghan allowed himself the smallest of smiles. It wasn’t victory yet, but it was a lot better than they had been doing five minutes ago. Advantages of having the last Speerly and best martial artist in the Empire by your side. Turning back to the passage, he wondered how to _shut_ the panel. He hadn’t caught how Daji had done it and didn’t want to slam his hand into it again, he’d already broken one wrist today, so he decided leaving it open would have to do. In the thick of battle, hopefully no one would notice. He cautiously snuck forward, letting the darkness envelop him, hiding his figure from view. He trusted Altan would know where he had gone, what had to be done.

Careful to stick to the shadows, Chaghan noted the flickering torches hewn from dusty quartz, placed at intervals along the polished black marble. Their dancing flames twisted the dim passage into a spiraling cave of scarlet and black. He was most wary of the swirling shadows between the torches, the darkest places in the narrow hall. Daji could be anywhere, she could have been stalking him this entire time, trailing him through the writhing shadows, unseen. His sensitivity for other great shamans might not do any good with her, considering several of the most powerful shamans, including himself, were able to hide their spiritual trace at will. _Probably a good idea, actually._ He focused on wiping his asomatous being from existence, so that those traversing the world of spirits would not be able to sense him.

Several of the darkest shadows were truly other diverging corridors, veering off the main passage and plunging into the depths beneath the Imperial Palace. Chaghan knew that one wrong turn meant losing himself to the endless darkness, so he decided to stick to the original path, praying Daji hadn’t disappeared into one of the branching tunnels, or else he was doomed.

After a couple of haunting minutes traveling the umbrous hall, it appeared that he was alone. Daji was gone, but if there was any way to get to her, the passage would be it. The tunnel itself seemed to slant downward, plummeting into the earth below the city. Daji must have had a secret bunker hidden below the palace. Clever; it meant that this was her turf. She probably knew the sublevel labyrinth perfectly, giving her an extreme advantage if it came to a physical match.

Chaghan cringed at the way his footsteps echoed over the rough stone floor. If the Empress _was_ still in the tunnel, she was sure to hear him approaching long before he reached her, giving her time to retreat further, or worse, plot her assault. 

Looking over his shoulder, he could barely see the sliver of golden light at the end of the passage, the cracked door he had left behind. Wherever this tunnel went, it was far below sea level, deep underground. Chaghan shivered. If things took a turn for the worse, there would be truly no escape.

Chaghan whirled at the slightest sound, backing quickly into the shadows. He stilled, not daring to breathe until he found the source of the noise. It was then that he noticed the deep, pooling darkness ahead, where all the torches had been extinguished. He dropped to a crouch, pressing back against the cool stone. Knowing Daji, she was probably concealed in those shadows, coiled and ready to strike. 

He waited for a single, dreadful minute. Then two. Three.

If the Empress was hidden straight before him, then she hadn’t shown herself, and might not be planning to. _My turn then._ Going on the offensive was his specialty. Straightening, he crept forward, deciding that if Daji was actually there, it would be better to take her head on, close up. Surprise might already be lost, but proximity could play in his favor. If he could just impair her eyes, the source of her hypnotic power, then she would be at his mercy. _Finally._

He inched forward, loath to leave the darkness. When no strike came, he stepped closer, hesitant. Perhaps he was just skittish, hearing things.

And then he saw the doorway. Set into the sloping right wall of the tunnel was a small but elegantly decorated door. A ghostly golden light was filtering through a crack beneath the glossy wood, inviting him. 

He didn’t want to do this, but then again, he didn’t have a choice at this point. He might never get a chance like this again. If the tunnel didn’t lead anywhere, and was simply a shelter as Chaghan had suspected, then Daji was finally cornered.

When he placed a hand on the lacquered wood, his breath caught in his throat, nearly choking him. He was afraid. Truly, terribly afraid. No one, _no one_ scared Chaghan Suren. No one but Altan.

He steeled himself, allowing for one last silent moment before pushing the heavy door wide to reveal the room’s dim interior. The floor was of solid stone, bare of rugs, carpet, or woodwork, but the small chamber was heavily furnished, fit for an Empress. It did indeed appear to be a safehouse of sorts, albeit a grand one. The only thing setting off the luxurious atmosphere was the cramped size of the room itself. It was likely only able to fit one or two horse-drawn chariots side by side, making the opulent furniture seem impractical and crowded together. The same quartz torches from the hall cast long shadows over the intricately carved chairs and desk, giving the empty walls an eerie, fulgurating glow.

A dark silhouette was leaning over the tremendous desk. Her hands were braced against the burnished blackwood and a sheet of raven hair fell past her waist, shimmering bright with blood. Her deep olive robes were in tatters, and the blackened hem was still smoking slightly. The torchlight fell on the small, glinting crown resting slightly askew in her glossy locks.

“Suren.” Su Daji acknowledged without turning around. The Empress straightened up, composing herself, and sighed heavily. “It was only a matter of time. What do you want?”

Chaghan faltered. He wasn’t prepared for that. What _did_ he want? Her death, of course, but that was so obvious it seemed pathetic to state it. Her misery, in that case, but it wasn’t as if she would lay down her arms, swayed not to fight back. After a brief hesitation he answered, “Your cooperation. Your surrender.”

Still facing the far wall, she tensed, hands balling into fists on the desk. “And what exactly am I surrendering to, Naimad?”

He tipped his chin with what he hoped was a superior air, despite her back still being turned. “A pillar in the Chuluu Korikh, where you belong.” Chaghan wished he had thought to find a weapon. He would look a lot more threatening, not just a pale, spindly child demanding things from the Empress herself.

There was a short pause, then she cackled sharply, her high laugh piercing the thick air like one of her signature poisoned needles. “You Ketreyids. Always pretending to be so powerful.” Chaghan could feel her venomous smile and braced himself for the inevitable strike to come.

“I wouldn’t call _this_ ‘pretending,’ Daji.” He grinned, knowing she would expect that to punctuate an attack.

The Vipress swung around on cue, just as he had predicted, and flung out her arm, hurling what he expected to be her long, thin throwing needles. But instead of fighting back, he dropped to the floor in a flash, having anticipated the flock of pricks. But when a razor-sharp crack exploded through the cell-like room, he understood. Jerking his gaze up, he barely recognized the reeling golden whip before it struck him straight across the face, tearing open the previously inflicted gash from the raven and knocking him back into the hall.

Daji was on him in a split second, pinning him against the frigid marble. She offered no further physical damage, instead electing to grasp his shoulders, forcing him to stay down, caged under her hypnotic gaze. He automatically clenched his eyes shut, knowing he would be helpless if he fell for her paralyzing stare.

 _Damn,_ he thought weakly. _She has this down._ Hardly ten minutes ago, he’d faced a mirror tableau: the Vipress bent over another great shaman brought low, preparing to feast, but teasing him first.

Chaghan lasted a few, straining seconds, but no matter how hard he tried, something about her mesmeric eyes were pulling him in, forcing him to look at her. His eyes flared open unwillingly. What he saw then nearly made him scream. Now he understood why the Empress had kept her back to him for as long as possible.

Daji’s right eye was horribly ravaged, a wreck beyond description. It had been mangled so badly that Chaghan couldn’t tell if the real eye was even there or not. A gaping hole had taken the place of her once beautiful yellow iris, and although the wound had been thoroughly cleaned with the best treatment in the Empire, it still looked infected, oozing a horrible pus from several open sores. Unfortunately for him, however, her hypnosis seemed to be working just fine with her singular remaining eye.

“That power you claimed you had might be of use right about now.” She smirked, having won, and knowing it.

He snarled up at her, trying in vain to shove her off, but he knew it wouldn't work. Daji had him now; she was just drawing it out, enjoying the game. He’d go under soon, just like Daji had said, it was only a matter of time.

Increasing her manipulation of his free will, Daji leaned forward, breath hot on his neck. Chaghan could scarcely blink of his own accord now, and his mental shield was slipping. After the loss of his anchor, he was far weaker than usual. He was sinking into her obsidian eye, drawn in by a power much stronger than his own.

“Last chance, Naimad.” She hadn’t named what for, but the message was crystal. Last chance to give in. Give up. To answer to her and betray Altan. To keep his mind. Keep his life.

With a final burst of concentration, he forced out a single, hoarse, word. “Never.”

The Vipress sneered, grip tightening. Biting nails pierced his skin, and he stifled a yelp.

“Wrong.”

Chaghan could feel himself falling into her gaze, lost to her deadly stare. His vision tunneled, pinpointing to a single focus in his shrunken view. Despite being the most powerful shaman on the Earth, even he could not resist the captivating pull, and he was drowning in her dripping power.

He convulsed once, then went completely still, eyes glazing over as the Vipress seized all control of his mind, twisting it to her sinister liking.

# CHAPTER FOUR

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**The murky passage fell** away, and Chaghan could feel himself tipping into the spiritual realm, escaping the material world at Daji’s command. Where was she taking him? He didn’t know, just that wherever it was, he didn’t want to be there.

Daji was now dragging him through the spiritual plane, and he had no choice but to follow blindly, unsure of her destination. Everything was twisting and undulating, and he couldn’t keep up. _What in the name of Nüwa is she doing?_ He wondered sluggishly. This was unlike any of Daji’s tactics he’d experienced in the past, and he’d had his fair share.

Suddenly a rolling, curling image spun up to surround him, and Chaghan found himself in a scene being played out before him. Two small shadows were huddled on the sandy ground, talking together in low voices. They appeared to be in a cramped yurt, exactly like the ones from Chaghan’s childhood, out on the Steppe. He couldn’t see Daji, but he knew she must be watching too.

A clanging noise from outside the hut caught the attention of one of the meager figures, and she looked up to face the entrance to the yurt, expression terrified.

Chaghan bit back a startled cry. He knew that expression like it was his own.

Qara.

He understood instantly, horrified. Daji must have ripped open his mind, pawing through his most precious memories and drawing this one up. She had greater power than he had thought. It was possibly the most powerful weapon of all, a shaman’s mind, and she was using his own strength against him.

Chaghan tried to pay attention. Daji chose this memory for a reason. She was trying to tell him something and forcing him to listen this time. It wasn’t necessary. He would give anything to hear his sister’s voice again.

Taking in his surroundings, he realized he was back home, or the closest thing to it. The lethal, whipping desert of the Steppe, known as the Hinterlands to the Nikara, was the only place he had felt truly safe. Before his mother had been killed, he had even been truly happy there, a mighty shaman in the making, alongside his bonded twin. Kalagan had already been mentoring them both at the time of her murder, and her death had destroyed Chaghan from a young age. Qara had been his lifeline when they were dispatched to the Night Castle to look over the Cike; he wouldn’t have become half as stable a shaman if not for her.

He studied his lost sister now, wishing the moment were present, real again. Her quick fingers were expertly weaving a portion of her cascading hair into a perfectly tight braid. Chaghan tried very hard not to imagine those same fingers tracing a shaky figure in her own blood, shattering their bond. His stomach twisted and he forced himself to forget that for now, while she was here in front of him, trembling and breathing and so beautifully _alive._

Chaghan also spotted a dainty sparrow flitting around her head, whisking back and forth, drawn to the girl by the nature of her goddess. The delicate bird fluttered to her shoulder, raising its thin beak to Qara’s ear to report something only she could understand. She smiled softly, caressing the sparrow's head lovingly, before leaning down to whisper back in the airy tongue of the birds.

There was a second child too, working his way down another braid at her back, who Chaghan immediately recognized as a much younger version of himself. His silky hair was still dark, flawlessly matching Qara’s but for several slashing streaks of bone white. He must have been about eight at the time, three years before the twins were banished to Nikan.

A second crash from beyond in the memory caused Qara to jump, fear spread plain on her face. Young-Chaghan’s pale hand darted up to clasp hers, fingers interlacing out of habit.

“Qara. _Qara._ It’s okay. He’s not coming back until tomorrow.” Chaghan picked up the notion easily. Their cousin, Bekter, of whom they were both terrified, had often parted their group for weeks, leaving camp with a band of other older Ketreyids to carry out the Sorqan Sira’s dark bidding. The twins had always secretly celebrated his departures and dreaded his returns. “It’s alright. It’s just the wind. You’re safe.”

It appeared Qara was trying to calm down, reminding herself of the truth, but she was still trembling visibly. “I know.” She whispered, and her voice trembled too. “I just… I hate it here. I hate cousin. I hate the wind.” Tears pricked in her bright sandstorm gold eyes, nothing like the ominous white of her twins. “I want Mother.”

“Shhh, _little storm cloud,_ it’s okay.” Kalagan had always said the twins were like the sun and the storm, light and darkness; complete opposites that destroyed and balanced each other perfectly. The titles had stuck, and Chaghan was fairly sure half his tribe didn’t even know his real name, adopting the reputation of the Prince of the Sun throughout his clan, singled out for his extreme power and place as heir to the chieftesses. He still called Qara the Storm Princess on occasion to sooth her, but that only worked if they didn’t think about their mother when he did. But they had already crossed that line anyway.

“You have _me_.” Chaghan declared passionately. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you. Ever.”

“Ever?” Qara asked tearfully, and as Chaghan watched from the shadows, he though his heart might break before Daji even got the chance to murder him.

“Ever. I mean it.” He pouted, feigning hurt. “Honestly Qara. It’s like you’ve never met a real deserter before.”

Qara smiled weakly, holding their intertwined fingers to her chest. “Su Daji is a slimy fungus faced stupid moldy camel turd.” She recited their old remedial mantra with a little extra flair, making young-Chaghan snicker.

He toyed listlessly with the beaded bracelet he hadn’t parted with in four years, pretending that mention of the long-gone Empress didn’t put fresh splinters in his heart. There was a heavy silence as he stroked Qara’s remaining unbraided hair gently. “It’s getting long, Qara,” he said, meaning her hair, and not-so-subtlety changing the subject. “We should cut it soon.”

“No.” She said fiercely, protectively clutching a completed braid. “I won’t let you.” The sparrow came to rest directly on top of her head. It glared up at Chaghan, wings thrown wide. _Back off,_ it seemed to say, as if something its size could ever be threatening.

“Why not? Doesn’t it get in the way? I promise I’ll be careful.”

Tears were flowing faster now, despite her best attempts to stem them. “Mother always did that.”

The whisper was hardly audible, but Chaghan didn’t miss a word. He softened a little, melting at the memory. “I know, Qara, but Mother isn’t around anymore.” He swept a lock of hair behind her ear, murmuring softly. “She’s not coming back. So, I might as well-”

“No. No one but Mother.” Qara repeated stubbornly. The Chaghan outside of the vision knew this was a memory of his, although he wouldn’t have ever remembered this particular conversation if not for Daji pulling it up from the deepest recesses of his mind. But he did recall that Qara had always been firm about leaving her hair, a gesture Chaghan had taken as childish. But in reality, it was a testament to their deceased mother, hanging on to the only piece of her Qara had. Before she died, her thick, deep brown locks fell far past her hips from years of defiance over the matter.

Chaghan-from-the-memory sighed, deflating in the face of her steely determination. “Okay. Fine. We’ll leave it. Do mine then?” His hair was hanging low too, falling to his waist in streaks of white and dark olive brown.

Sniffling, she wiped away her tears, nodding slightly. But then a sheepish expression crossed her face as she remembered something. “But… I haven’t before. I don’t want to hurt you. Us.” She corrected herself, remembering their predicament.

“Oh, that’s alright, storm cloud. How about just braids?”

Qara brightened, pushing away the ghost of their mother. “Sure.” Settling behind him, she carefully combed her fingers through his ebony hair, tracing a ribbon of silvery white. “Mmmm.” She murmured, fingering the pearly strands.

“Qara?”

“There’s more.” She whispered. “About a fourth now. And it’s spreading faster than ever.”

The first streak had appeared on the day the twins had been bonded, the moment their separate beings became one and the same. The ceremony had been before either of them could remember, when they were only ten days old. The ancient anchor bond had set off something unique in Chaghan, heightening his power to an extreme, rare level. The lone stripe had stuck around until he was seven, when his mother, Kalagan, had started training him to be a Seer. After his first time summoning the Talwu, the streaks started increasing, their numbers growing rapidly with each ascent to the heavens, until his hair was white with _brown_ streaks. By the time Chaghan turned thirteen, his hair was already prematurely white, identical to his monochromatic eyes, which had faded from their original golden hue since birth.

Chaghan was drawn back to the present, or rather, the past, when Qara flung her arms around the vision of her brother, sobbing in earnest now. He stiffened momentarily before carefully slipping his arms around her shaking frame, obviously a little confused.

“Qara. Qara, gods, what’s wrong?” It obviously wasn’t physical pain, or the illusion of Chaghan would be reacting too. “Qara, come on, what is it now?”

It was a minute before her racking sobs quieted, and she could speak again. “It’s like Mother’s was…” she whispered, voice heavy with memories.

Chaghan couldn’t resist them either, and before he could block the flood, a dozen illusions flashed across his mind, images and figures he’d tried tirelessly to forget. A single, salient face stood out from the rest, framed with an unusual shock of white hair. Kalagan Suren had been a warrior queen to the bone, vehemently protective of her family, particularly her older sister. She had always treated the twins like her equals, never talking down to them, and making sure they got the respect they deserved. Qara had trained with her for a mere year and was already the single best archer in the clan by far. Kalagan hadn’t been so much a mother to Chaghan, more of a mentor. But the twins had both been too young to experience such great loss, and neither ever fully recovered.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Chaghan. I don’t mean to. I really can’t…” Qara made it through a few halting sentences before dissolving into choking wails again. She buried her face in Chaghan’s tunic, inconsolable.

They stayed that way for a long time, wrapped around each other, perfectly immortalized in that moment. Chaghan wished he could stay forever, drinking in the sight of his lost sister, miserable and aching, but alive.

And that’s when, abruptly, a sharp, slicing voice shattered the vision.

“Enough of this nonsense.”

Daji had returned.

“No! Wait-” Chaghan knew Daji would ignore him, but he so grievously wanted, _needed_ to stay with Qara, even if she was only a mirage, a false image from years before, when the twins’ biggest worry had been their harrowing cousin and their dead mother. He scrabbled desperately for a last glimpse of his sister’s face before the shards of the memory scattered far and wide.

Using pure will alone, the Empress jerked Chaghan from the yurt, ripping him away from the fantasy. He was thrust into a tornado of indescribable colors and sounds, the entire spectrum of dappled beams shifting in straying patterns around him. Suspended perforce in the twister of dissolving screams and twirling banners of light, he tried to remember the cool darkness of moments before. The howling rage of the Steppe’s thrashing winds. The sight of his lost sister nestled beside him, right where she belonged.

But what were Daji’s intentions through it all? The only real message he’s picked up was that hair was oddly symbolic to the Suren twins.

Before he had the time to ponder the Vipress's scheming, the cyclone tore apart, shredding into a thousand tentacles of dazzling color and dancing rays. The brilliant shafts were too blinding, forcing Chaghan’s eyes shut despite his best efforts. _Just kill me already_ he thought, despondent.

Even if Daji had heard, she was vengeful, waiting for just the right moment to bear down on her prey. And she had waited long enough.

Chaghan was just about to lash out, throw all his remaining energy toward the witch, when just as suddenly as the last had ended, he was thrown into a second vision. This time he recognized the scene straight away, the characters familiar at once.

Two boys dressed in the signature Cike black were crouched in the deep shadow of an exceedingly ornate bridge, waiting as a procession of carriages and carts paraded down the crowded street overhead. Chaghan remembered this mission specifically; it had been the year after Altan graduated from Sinegard. The very week, actually. Chaghan would never forget the day the Sinegardian star had arrived to knock him from him his place as Tyr’s successor. This assignment had come several days later, and neither shaman had been happy about it.

Tyr had slated them together for the assassination of the Boar Warlord’s heir. Cao Sraine, the eldest son of Cao Charouk had shown several signs of resistance against the Empire, posing a threat to the Vipress’s eternal reign. After four such infractions, including publicly speaking out against Daji in court, directly to her face, she had ordered the Cike to get rid of him as cleanly as possible.

Chaghan recalled this day well enough, it having been only three years prior, but he listened in to their conversation carefully all the same.

“Tyr said just the poison. We’re going for _discreet,_ remember?” It was extremely odd to hear his own voice as an outsider in the vision, instead of as the subject like he remembered it.

“Right, sure.” Altan rolled his eyes. “Like they wouldn’t all know it was us anyway.”

“I’m just following orders, Speerly.” Chaghan whispered, annoyed already. This was how missions with Altan always went, both of them trying to gain control. Altan had already been named the commander next in line, but Chaghan didn’t trust him in the slightest, or rather, he didn’t trust Altan’s ability to successfully conquer his god, the vengeful Phoenix. The great Vermilion Bird was irresistible, forcing Speerlies out of their own minds young, and controlling them with a visceral, fiery rage. So, nothing personal, really. Just that he probably wouldn’t be sane much longer anyway, so why bother with the short-lived power when it could just go straight to Chaghan instead?

“You do that.” A hint of flame flicked over Altan’s fist, a dead giveaway of the slayers, if it was to be used as a weapon. “I’m going in. Stay here.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Chaghan warned, fingers closing over Altan’s despite the risk of being burned. He fought the peculiar thrill that shot through him whenever he touched the Speerly, disregarding it as loathing. “No chance. I’m seeing to it that you do this right, or Tyr might just make Ramsa his heir.”

The notion was ridiculous, but both boys knew what it meant for the Cike if they were lost. Qara would take over, but she wasn’t a natural leader. Chaghan had always been the radiant one, leaving Qara to keep to herself, electing to stick to the shadows and her birds. But then, of course, there was the whole Qara-could-never-outlive-Chaghan-anyway thing, so they could scrap that plan at the roots. Ramsa was far too young, and beyond that, he wasn’t even a shaman, which could get problematic when trying to control the Bizarre Children. Suni couldn’t be trusted to stay sane half the time, and he needed a leader who could handle his fits. Baji hadn’t been serious one minute in his life. Aratsha wouldn’t be much use for communicating with anyone outside of the Cike, stuck in his usual form. Feylen was too unpredictable: he almost never took orders, and one wrong word could have him vanishing into the valleys for days with the threat of no return. Enki had no knowledge of warfare and strategy, despite being a war physician since childhood. And Unegen was too skittish; he couldn’t be trusted to keep it together on dangerous missions, much less direct them. The boys couldn’t afford to get killed, that was definite. Tyr probably shouldn’t have assigned them together in the first place, the risk of losing them both being too great. Their entire division depended on them staying alive, or the Cike would go to ruin.

“Fine.” Altan conceded, a rare surrender to the Seer. “But if we die, it’s your fault.”

“Yes, I’ll take full responsibility.” Chaghan muttered drily.

Altan ignored him, gesturing to Chaghan’s satchel. “Cao’s just a block down now. You have it?”

“Of course I do.” Chaghan produced the vial of unassuming clear liquid, insulted. “And Qara’s birds located another back entrance, not the one I went through last time.” Chaghan would rather not think about last time. His first attempt on Cao Sraine had been solo, and he’d very decidedly failed, a scarce outcome of his frequent missions. Seething, he’d grudgingly accepted the re-assignment, this time paired with his replacement, the last living Speerly.

 _Not for long,_ he’d thought savagely. The Ketreyids had commissioned him to wipe out any dangerous Nikara shamans anyway, so it wouldn’t be seen as anything more than following orders.

“Okay, we have to get in before he-” But Chaghan never finished, cut off by a shattering sonic blast.

In a split second, the world had turned to fire, flames consuming the bridge and all surrounding it, burning the street whole. Chaghan had lost sight of Altan, his vision consumed by bright reds and deep golds that roared around him in such a terrible, beautiful eruption of rushing heat. Chaghan was no stranger to explosions, but the shear proximity had hurled him into the churning river, bashing him against the smooth river stones lining the shallow bed. He’d had barely a second before a towering wave descended, beating him back again. He’d fought the crushing current with everything he had, which wasn’t really a whole lot. In the end, he’d lasted all of a few flailing seconds before a chunk of pulverized bridge had plunged into the water above him, slamming into his skull with a splitting crack. And knocking him out cold at the bottom of the Southern Murui.

# CHAPTER FIVE

⋟⪼⪻⋞

**Chaghan had awoken to** hacking coughs and a single thought.

_Trengsin, you son of a freaking idiot Speerly bastard-_

But that was, of course, before it struck him that he had been knocked out at the bottom of a river, and now he was not. Which had happened somehow, he had realized. And the implication had hit him. Altan hadn’t caused the explosion, hadn’t almost killed them both. It was the exact opposite.

And then Chaghan was even more infuriated.

He had found himself splayed on gravely sand somewhere in the Rooster Province, hemmed on either side between the frothing Murui and the rolling slopes of the Daba Range. His soaked Cike robes were in shreds and his silky hair had been matted with blood from a gash along his scalp where the boulder had collided. Despite it being nearly summer in the South, a brisk wind had been brushing through the mountain valleys, stirring the crisp air. There was no sound but that of the gushing river, the one that would have mashed him to a pulp if not for a particular maddening Speerly.

When he had finally forced himself up, despite the intense vertigo, he couldn’t pretend not to notice the dark figure hunched on the bank. Doing his best to even his wobbly strides, Chaghan had trudged over, furious with himself.

He had come to stand next to Altan, pointedly staring out at the thundering water as if the Speerly wasn’t there. Altan had mirrored the act, statuesque. He appeared untouched by the explosion, being more fireproof than most, but a shrieking laceration whipped across his face, slashing his dark skin from the corner of his left eye down to his right jaw. Several other minor cuts marked his arms, but nothing seemed terribly permanent.

Neither had broken the silence, letting the mission fester in the roaring peace of the Murui’s violent crashing waves. After a few agonizing minutes, Chaghan could feel the burning heat of scarlet eyes on his profile, gauging him with torrid intent.

“ _What._ ” Chaghan had forced through gritted teeth, trying his hardest to keep his voice level.

Altan had seemed amused, gaze sweeping back to the pounding river. “That went well.”

“You think?” Chaghan snarled, not totally sure why he was so livid. It hadn’t been Altan’s fault the other assassin had gotten Cao first, but then Chaghan had failed twice in one week, only proving Tyr’s point about his leadership. Chaghan had never actually _wanted_ to control the Cike, he just couldn’t have anyone else doing it if the Ketreyids' plan was ever to work.

It had been another couple of minutes before Altan divulged the looming truth. “Tyr’s going to skin us alive.”

Chaghan had fought a feeble smile, flattening any sense of comradery between them. “Tyr doesn’t have a choice.” He had droned, trying and failing to sound assured of their security. “We’re the last hope.” He hadn’t wanted to recognize anything they had in common, but it was true.

He and Altan were the last great shamans of Nikan. Shamanism, having been shunned for years after the age of the Red Emperor, had almost entirely died out. Save Tyr and the Empress herself, the pair of them held the greatest power in the Empire, maybe even the world. The silence was much longer this time, stretching Chaghan’s humiliation to a breaking point.

“How does it feel?” Altan whispered suddenly, staring fixedly at the ground.

Chaghan blinked, uncomprehending. “What?”

“To be the last.” Altan said hoarsely. Chaghan had finally turned to look at him, and what he’d seen was oddly reminiscent of a deeper feeling Chaghan couldn’t quite name. Altan had been so bare in that moment, not the famed warrior, not the almighty shaman, just a wandering boy, drifting on the currents of circumstance. Just a frightened child who’d lost everything. Lost his entire race in a single, terrible night. The endling.

The last.

“I don’t-” But Chaghan’s words had caught in his throat. Because he really _did_ know. He understood the hollow feeling when he knew there was nothing he could do but face it. And faced it he had. The Ketreyids were a dying clan, and with Tseveri and Kalagan and now his aunt and sister lost, and the Trifecta always on their heels, the Empress constantly threatening their survival, all he could do was try to forget. After a decade in Nikan, he wasn’t really Naimad anymore. He was an endling as much as Altan.

Chaghan hadn’t been aware of how close he had wandered, drawing up next to Altan’s left shoulder. That single frame seemed to last forever, two terribly lost, hopeless children stranded in the banks of the Southern Murui. Caged in a country that wasn’t their own, doomed to a life ruled by others, no choice truly their own free will.

Finally, Altan had twisted around to look him in the eye, honestly inquiring. Starting out of his reverie, Chaghan had shaken his head, turning away. “I don’t… know what you’re talking about.”

This was Altan Trengsin. His greatest adversary and only competitor for commander of the Cike. They were not the same. Far from it. Chaghan was infinitely more stable, far better prepared to lead. He already commanded the Cike’s respect and obedience, why not their missions? He might not have had a Sinegardian education, but his brutal training with the Ketreyids would more than suffice.

Altan nodded, incredulous but respectful. “Whatever you say, Suren.”

The pair of them lingered motionless for a long time after that, staring out at the roiling waves. Chaghan found they held a unique serenity, beautiful, in a way. Like the Pantheon crowded with its many raging gods, screaming with realm-shattering power, but perfectly balanced so as to keep the peace throughout the heavens and earth.

After a long pause, Chaghan had offered the Speerly a hand.

Altan clasped it and rose to his feet. His fingers lingered on Chaghan’s a for a fleeting second longer than was natural. Chaghan’s stomach twisted in a vexing way he planned on never telling anyone about, ever. He tried to ignore the way his body sang with heat when Altan touched him, hastily turning away to hide his face behind a curtain of bone white hair.

And from the shadows, when the memory of himself wasn’t looking, Chaghan thought he saw Altan smile.

⋟⪼⪻⋞

**The memory faded slowly** this time, colors gradually dimming into darkness. Real-time Chaghan was once again surrounded by his own thoughts, contemplating the mysterious judgment of a certain conniving Empress.

Chaghan didn’t know what to think of the memory, or the fact that Daji had chosen that specific one. Dimly, he wondered if she had sent the other assassin too, just as she had commanded the Cike to take out the Warlord’s heir. The shamans had failed that day, reprimanded strongly by Tyr. He had been sure that if only the boys had gotten into the family residence sooner, they would have been spared the entire incident, whether the bridge was bombed or not. Later on, the Cike had learned the second murderer’s identification, although they never quite found out if the explosion was determined by the Empress or another duplicitous warlord.

But the near-death experience wasn’t what stuck with Chaghan.

It was the sickening truth that although they loathed each other, although they were absolute rivals, although Chaghan was destined to kill him someday, Altan had saved his life.

And then Chaghan had just let him die.

Chaghan barely had the time to remember that Altan _wasn’t_ dead, not yet, before another memory took the place of the last, and he dropped the thought immediately, eager almost, this time, to see what vision Daji had picked. If she showed him enough, maybe he could piece together a sort of pattern connecting the acts.

He was shocked when he felt the floor again, solid beneath him. Chaghan was sure that Daji would have finished him off in the illusion, preferring a fight in the spiritual realm. But then he realized that he _wasn’t_ back in the material world, or at least not the current one. He was actually _in_ a memory, transported into a fiction from the past, somehow experiencing the fantasy from inside, as he recalled it.

Chaghan watched, awed, as the scene bloomed around him, pure color rippling through the inky void. It appeared he was in a cave of sorts, sitting among the crooked stalagmites, curled against the rugged wall. The grotto was lit by a vivid fire, flashing in the center of the dingy den. He couldn’t quite locate the exact situation, but he could tell that this wasn’t like the other scenes. Everything felt so _real,_ like this was truly happening again, but the edges of his vision were unnaturally blurred, assuring the fact he was still in the immaterial world. Whatever strain of Daji’s hypnosis this was, it was insanely realistic, far more powerful than her regular illusions.

Chaghan hugged his arms around his legs, drawing his knees up to his chest, and it might have been the strangest thing he’d ever felt. He was moving, sure, but he wasn’t in control of his body. Whatever was happening, it must have already taken place, occurring some day in the past, and now he was re-living the moment as himself, but not quite. He couldn’t command his limbs anymore; they were moving of their own accord. He was a puppet, observing his actions from within his own mind, every movement governed by his former self, lost somewhere in the past. If only he could figure out _where_ …

But Chaghan’s thoughts were interrupted. By… himself.

“So.” He drawled, turning to face his right, where a second boy sat cross-legged, sharpening a lengthy trident with a small tool. Scarlet eyes caught the flickering firelight, blazing. “About that rematch.”

And then Chaghan knew _exactly_ where they were. Or rather, _when_ they were.

_Great tortoise. What is she up to?_

Altan grinned, running the thin device along the glinting prongs of the weapon. The appliance produced a ghostly screech on contact, the shrieking song echoing throughout the cavern.

Chaghan shivered, the eerie melody trailing icy fingers down his spine. The same spine that had been very nearly severed clean by a certain trident only that morning, stabbing a gasping surrender from him.

Altan looked up from the trident once the unearthly cord dissipated, sinking the cave into thick silence. “About that.” Casting aside the gleaming spear, he tipped his head back against the cragged stone. “I was thinking maybe tomorrow.” He murmured, shifting closer.

Chaghan swallowed hard, tracking Altan’s every move. He was suddenly thankful he wasn’t conducting his body, for fear he might have stopped breathing. “And… alternatively?” He whispered hoarsely.

Altan just smirked.

Oh, Chaghan remembered this alright. This memory had taken place hardly a week after the last, the night after Tyr had granted Altan’s request for the duel. Chaghan thought he had known what Altan was doing when he asked their commander for permission. Trying to finish off his only rival for power over every last shaman in Nikan. Not unreasonable in the slightest. It was just what Chaghan would have done if their positions had been reversed.

But Chaghan had been far from correct about the Speerly’s motives.

And he’d also been very, very wrong about his own former hatred for that Speerly.

Chaghan was terrified of Altan, of course, of his inhumane power and control over his inimical god. Of his reckless plans that always seemed to work out somehow no matter how insane they seemed. Of his wild, visceral rage, the simmering fury he kept penned behind a mask of serene impartiality. But Chaghan saw past the act already. The Speerly was an unpredictable eruption waiting to happen, and when he turned, his enemies might as well have been massacred already. Chaghan could only hope Altan would release his power before the Phoenix shattered his mind, no longer permitting the dangers of a sane conduit still able to turn from the fire freely. Considering Altan was his last tether to the material world, the last Speerly, Chaghan figured the Vermilion Bird would go to even greater lengths to gain possession of his determination, pitting his own body against his mind.

Chaghan didn’t care how inhumanly stable Altan seemed. No one lasted for long. And Speerlies never made it past thirty in their own head. Altan had a decade at most.

Every logical explanation existing screamed for Chaghan to bolt. Stay as far away from the walking inferno as possible.

He should have been terrified. He _was_ terrified.

But there was something else too.

Something deeper. Something Chaghan desperately avoided naming.

They _had_ dueled.

But that wasn’t all they had done.

Chaghan drew a sharp breath when Altan’s fingers curled over the scar ripping down his neck. It sprouted from behind his left ear from when Qara had finally cut his hair for the first time. Turns out, she was right about being awful at it.

Acting from instinct, Chaghan’s hand snapped up and caught Altan’s wrist. The sudden contact earned him a flash of pain and Chaghan fought a wince. The burns on his hands and arms were the most severe, and the last few days had only provided infection.

A guilty look crossed Altan’s face when he noticed the patches of marbled skin wrapping around Chaghan’s fingers and down his arm. Chaghan had tried to school his face into neutrality, but it was too late, Altan read his expression anyway, knowing exactly how the burns had gotten there, and exactly why Chaghan tried to hide them. “Chaghan, I-”

“Don’t.” Chaghan snapped, dropping Altan’s wrist. He didn’t want any apology the Speerly could give him. “Just don’t.”

But Altan rushed on as if he hadn’t heard Chaghan at all. “I couldn’t- I couldn’t stop it. I… still can’t.” _That’s why they sent you to the Cike, idiot._ He sounded so genuinely stricken Chaghan felt guilty, but that didn’t stop him from asking the biting question still prickling under his skin.

“But why didn’t you just…?” Chaghan trailed off, puzzled. The explosion would have been the perfect cover. It hadn't been a tremendous blast, but the shamans had been close enough that death wouldn’t have been remarkable, or even out of the ordinary. At first, Chaghan had even thought Altan was the one who set it off, and upon discovering the selective burns was baffled. To Chaghan, an opportunity like that was irresistible. Tyr might have been suspicious, but there was nothing he could have done to prove Chaghan’s death hadn’t been an accident.

Altan shot him a cryptic glare like it was obvious. “I don’t enjoy _killing people_ , Chaghan.”

“Oh sure, just like the sky isn’t blue.” Chaghan scoffed, pretending not to notice when Altan flinched, clearly hurt. But not because it wasn’t true. War was what Speerlies were good at; they might have fought for the Empire because they were enslaved, but they also fought because they loved battle, craved it, and Chaghan knew Altan was no different.

But that aside, there was still the whole Chaghan-probably-would-have-died-anyway thing. Even if Altan hadn’t murdered him, the Murui would have taken him out within several torturous minutes anyway.

Which hadn’t happened either.

“But then…” Chaghan tipped his head, surveying Altan’s face for any sign of reaction. “Why didn’t you just let me drown?”

“You know perfectly well why.” Altan snarled, suddenly defensive. Chaghan shrunk back against the stone of the cave wall, frightened. He’d never seen anything ever actually get to Altan before. “I don’t care if your immediate response to competition is murder, but I don’t want to kill you, Chaghan, okay?” Then softer. “I never did.”

Chaghan was afraid to ask, afraid to hear the answer, but he need it. He needed an explanation. He couldn’t keep on waiting like this.

“Then what _do_ you want with me, Altan?” He challenged, voice raw.

Altan’s eyes flashed, betraying a slew of emotions that Chaghan couldn’t or wouldn’t decipher. “Chaghan…”

Crimson eyes dragged over Chaghan’s face, and his heart skipped a beat. He could feel the Speerly’s gaze as acutely as if Altan’s hands were sliding over his bare skin.

“Altan I can’t- I mean I wanted… but I can’t. We can’t…” Chaghan stammered, a pale flush creeping up his neck. “I can’t just- you don’t understand. It can’t be like this. I’m on orders to- I’m supposed to… Altan, I’ve always been…”

And then Altan kissed him.

It happened so abruptly, without prompt or warning, that Chaghan barely had time to react, cutting off midsentence. One moment Chaghan was stuttering helplessly, arrested under Altan’s scarlet gaze, and the next, Altan’s mouth closed over his, and

Chaghan.

Couldn’t.

Think.

Altan pinned him gently, pressing his thin frame against the rough stone of the cave wall, and Chaghan forgot all he knew.

Every last thing his clan had ever taught him vanished, every warning, every lesson, every _word_ , evaporated, as if they’d never been there at all. He couldn’t remember his past. He wouldn’t think of his future.

There was only now, and here, and _him_. The weight of Altan’s body on his, the light press of his lips. If Chaghan had ever fantasized about this very moment before, which he _most certainly hadn’t_ , he would never have imagined it could be so _soft_. Altan did not kiss him with all the fire he summoned. His touch was tender, almost hesitant, shy in a way unbefitting of the greatest warrior of Nikan. Chaghan, whose own mother had never considered him a child, expecting him to look after himself and comfort his sister, had never known anyone to treat him like he was _delicate_ , never had someone hold him as if he was something fragile, something in danger of breaking. Chaghan didn’t know what to do with it. But he knew what he _wanted_ to do.

The brush of Altan’s skin lit a deep, flaring fire in Chaghan’s chest, burning away all other thoughts and feelings but the fury of the flames. They surged higher when Altan deepened the kiss, lips pressing open against Chaghan’s. Chaghan moaned softly into Altan’s mouth, hot desire melting through his body.

Altan drew back at the noise. He looked just as startled as Chaghan felt.

He hesitated for several pounding seconds, then tentatively raised a hand to Chaghan’s neck, curling his slender fingers into Chaghan’s ivory hair.

“Is this alright?” Altan asked uncertainly.

For perhaps the first time in all his eighteen years, Chaghan was absolutely speechless.

_Altan._

Altan _Trengsin._

Chaghan’s brain screamed. Screamed at least a hundred reasons why he should stop. Why he should run in the opposite direction and never look back.

But Chaghan didn’t really feel like being wise right now.

 _Altan Trengsin_ had _kissed him._

And for someone who threatened Chaghan’s position, his power, his _entire life_ , Chaghan was shocked to find he hadn’t actually minded. Like, at all. He might have even _enjoyed_ it.

Wordlessly, he nodded, hyperaware of Altan’s hand at his neck.

When their lips met this time, Chaghan didn’t bother suppressing the shudder of pleasure, slipping his arms around Altan’s neck and pulling him closer. And then it wasn’t just Altan kissing him—they were kissing each other.

Chaghan remembered how he’d always doubted the twisting, coiling knots his stomach performed whenever he was around the Speerly, misinterpreting it as boiling hatred. How very wrong he’d been. And how very right this felt.

The scalding fingers dropped from Chaghan’s hair, roving lower over his body and finding a sliver of bare skin at his hip. A spark of thrilling panic bolted through him, and Chaghan would have gasped had Altan’s mouth not been crushed to his.

Now the Speerly’s kisses were all fire, no trace of the gentle touch from seconds before. Chaghan didn’t mind when their teeth clashed and Altan’s nails dug into his skin, meeting the ferocity with his own rushing fervor, the inferno of every emotion the Speerly had ever stirred in him. Every surge of biting exasperation and bitter annoyance and piercing fear. Every flicker of awed wonder and quiet admiration and clandestine affection. He forced every last forbidden feeling into his touch, letting all his passion and pain soak through his usual impassive mask. The rare vulnerability of pure _emotion_ on Chaghan Suren was a true testament to this choice. He was directly disobeying his clan; this went against everything they’d ever taught him. And he didn’t even care. How could this be so wrong if it felt closer to right than anything else Chaghan had ever done?

Altan’s hands fit to Chaghan’s slender waist, drawing him onto his lap like he belonged there. Their bodies fit together so perfectly, as though they had always meant to be here. Altan’s blazing hand slipped under the hem of Chaghan’s tunic, fingers splaying over the small of his back. Chaghan shivered involuntarily, despite his feverish flush and the branding fire of Altan’s skin. The heat seeping from the places where the Speerly’s skin touched Chaghan’s was so intense that Altan might have left his body scorched with twisting burns.

It didn’t matter. Chaghan would have let him.

Instead of shrinking from the roaring heat, he pressed his frail body closer still, burning in the searing fire until he couldn’t remember what it was to be cold. Chaghan didn’t truly belong in the mortal world, he never had, and he never would. He had always found his material body a mere inconvenience, tethering him to this land when he could roam free among the others. This, however, might just be worth having one.

When Altan pulled back, Chaghan fought the swelling urge to close the gap again. A very, _very_ small, insignificant part of his mind was still working properly, blaring every possible note of common sense.

“This... cannot possibly end well.” He breathed, speaking to himself as much as the Speerly.

Altan’s eyes flickered to Chaghan’s lips for a second. “Probably not.” He agreed.

“And Tyr…?” Chaghan was having a terribly difficult time arguing this case with Altan’s hand still resting on his waist.

Flushing, Altan looked away, staring into the diming fire. A soft whine escaped Chaghan’s lips when Altan withdrew, but he stilled when Altan sighed, finishing his thought. “Would slaughter us himself.”

Chaghan paled, but he couldn’t say he hadn’t expected that. Assassins couldn’t afford to be… distracted.

He studied Altan, gazing fixedly at the shrinking flames, embarrassment painting his skin so dark it looked black in the dying firelight. Altan was a disastrous risk, and Chaghan was no maverick, following, if not directly obeying, every leader to which he’d been assigned. Or born. He’d accepted that his life was not his own from a young age, knowing he was nothing more than a piece in someone else’s game, a game with rules he couldn’t ever hope to understand.

But perhaps those rules didn’t apply to endling Speerlies who save your life when they should have just let you die and called it an accident, and maybe never even hated you at all, as in, maybe even all the way from the beginning.

"Perhaps. But that's only if he finds out.” Chaghan grinned, and knotting his fingers into the Speerly’s hair, still cut short from the Academy, he brought his mouth up to find Altan’s. Until then, he hadn’t realized just how long he had wanted to do that.

Altan froze against him, but after a second’s hesitation he softened, molding his body to Chaghan’s, and both shamans lost all self-control.

Tyr could murder them on the spot if he wanted.

But Tyr never had to know.

Just then, a ringing cackle resounded through the cave, echoing around the two children caught up in such a horrible, wonderful mistake.

Chaghan would have lurched forward, startled, if he had been able to command his own movements at all. He couldn’t even fight back as Daji proceeded to tear him from the memory, stripping away the dim cave and replacing it with the vertiginous hurricane of color.

Gasping, Chaghan struggled to regain control of his racing heartbeat. He forcefully tried to rid his mind of the memory, fighting to shake off the feeling of Altan’s fingers on his skin. _It wasn’t real, you gullible idiot. This is what she wants. She wants you vulnerable._ He understood Daji’s method now. She would prod at his weak spots until he was defenseless, ensuring her victory in any match that followed. He braced himself for the next vision, determined not to let his guard slip.

When the memory surfaced, Chaghan could tell it was like the last. Every feature of this scene was solid and dimensional, if not altogether real. He was striding down a familiar hallway, vaulted marble and shale arches framing the ceiling periodically along the length of the corridor. His footsteps echoed on the onyx tile of the Night Castle. Chaghan scoured his brain for the last time he’d been there, coming up with a few fragments of memories from before the Third Poppy War, the precious weeks of relative peace for the Cike in between their larger, coordinated missions. In Nikan, the base nestled deep in the Wudang range had been the closest thing to home.

Chaghan came to a door hidden in the shadow at the end of the hall, and upon gently pushing it open, found his sister was already there. Qara was pouring over a clutter of maps on the small desk they shared, marking them occasionally with an eagle’s talon dipped in ink.

When he noticed the claw, Chaghan froze. He recalled the night with a sickening jolt and scowled inwardly, silently cursing Daji with every insult he could come up with.

This specific night had been almost exactly a year since Altan’s graduation, when he had yet to become commander. On reflection, it had most likely been the best year of Chaghan’s miserable life. He had not yet been granted the power of lieutenant, leaving him freer than he would be for years to come. He was still Tyr’s only Seer and greatest consultant, but most of the time he was free to train in the spirit realm with his sister or Altan. Unburdened by the weight of command, Altan had been so different in that first year, gentle and even shy.

Chaghan did not need to relive this memory to know every last detail. He would never forget. Before he had returned to his rooms that night, he’d been out on night watch with Altan, as always. He was pretty sure that Baji always paired them together on purpose, snickering whenever he caught them with fingers intertwined or Altan’s hand at Chaghan’s waist. But Chaghan never complained. He’d always treasured those long nights on the cliffs, when he and Altan could pretend that they weren’t renowned shamans, heirs to their clans’ legacies. Just two lost boys kissing under the stars, finding themselves in each other.

And sometimes... a little more than just kissing.

Chaghan had been so very foolish. He should have known that Qara would have felt it. In hindsight, it made sense; he’d always felt her cycle. And he wasn’t even exactly sure why he’d tried to hide his emotions from her. But he _was_ sure that sleeping with his own commander was illegal, in at least four different ways. He felt wrong, dirty, to keep this from her; it wasn’t as though his sister would have reported them. But there had always been something holding him back, even though he knew the longer he waited to tell her, the angrier Qara would be.

Chaghan had never been so scared of being right.

But instead of turning on his heel and retreating into the folds of the Night Castle, he was forced forward of his own volition, body moving independently of his screaming thoughts.

Chaghan shut the door behind him, dropping his satchel on the single thin mattress unrolled on the floor. Despite all the Night Castle’s architectural luxury, the Cike was still the Militia’s most poorly funded division.

The memory of him grimaced at the grating sound of the talon against Qara’s parchment. “Is that really necessary?”

He had expected her to shoot back some excuse about how the claw was better than anything the Militia provided, but he was met with no response. She completely ignored him, continuing to scratch the sketches with near obsession, fervently writing countless details that upon inspection, didn’t even look like real characters.

“Qara. Sorry, I wasn’t insulting your goddess or anything, it’s just an awful noise.”

Nothing but the scraping of talon against wood. Qara’s head was bent so low over the desk, intent on fully avoiding him, that her nose almost touched the parchment.

“Qara…?”

All of a sudden, his twin was on her feet, a flurry of boiling rage. Chaghan flinched at the hollow _thump_ Qara’s chair made when she kicked it back. Pure fury emanated from her being as she seized Chaghan’s collar, slamming him back against the smooth wall.

His head cracked against the rigid stone and he suppressed a cry.

“Qara, what the h-”

She interrupted him by clapping one hand over his mouth and twisting his hair around the other, yanking him closer. “Tell me,” she whispered furiously, face inches from his. “ _Tell me_ who you’re seeing.”

Chaghan’s blood turned to ice. _“What?”_

“Don’t you play dumb with me, Chaghan.” Qara fumed, enraged. “Tell me who you’re seeing, just how long this has been going on, and why _I_ didn’t know about it, or I swear, Tyr is going to find your body speared on the gate tomorrow morning.”

Chaghan didn’t bother pointing out that death threats didn’t really have the same effect with anchor twins. “Qara, woah, calm down.” He put his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t hurt yourself there.”

“I’m not!” She shrieked uncontrollably. “I’m not, I’m going to hurt _you_ , Chaghan Suren, if you don’t tell me _this second!”_

“Qara, I don’t know-”

“Don’t pretend with me. I know.” Qara’s voice rose an octave, hysterical. “I know where you’ve been. I know what you’ve been doing.”

Chaghan had been very sincerely worried then. This wasn’t like Qara at all, his quiet, calculating twin had vanished entirely, replaced by this frenzied manic. “ _Qara_. Qara, I haven’t left. It’s alright. I’ve been here the entire time; I never left the castle-”

“ _No_. Don’t lie, Chaghan. I can _feel_ it.” She rasped, granting him no answer. “I can feel it every night. Every night you’re _gone._ ” Chaghan didn’t want to know what ‘it’ was, but he had a pretty good idea. He _did_ know he was cornered though, and Qara wasn’t letting him off the hook easily. “I kept on thinking you would-” Her voice broke, but she soldiered on, seemingly unaware of the tears leaking from her eyes. “I though you would _tell me._ You were _supposed to tell_ _me_. The bond doesn’t work if… Chaghan you can’t- you can’t keep these things from me, you should know that.”

Chaghan scrambled for an excuse, but he came up empty-handed. He _hadn’t_ left the castle, that much was true at least, but he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with Qara over the last few months. At first, she never mentioned his staggered disappearances, vanishing sometimes for entire nights without explanations, but too many of such late nights left her quietly suspicious. And now _not_ -so-quietly suspicious.

“Qara-”

But she cut him off again, eyes sparking with anger. “If you want to see the sunrise then _how_. _Long_.”

Chaghan sighed, dragging his hands over his face. It was a losing battle, refusing her would only prolong the inevitable. “A year.”

She was dead silent for a moment, golden eyes wide, before breaking off into a string of curses that lasted almost a full ten seconds.

“Gods, Qara, I’m sorry, I couldn’t-”

She bashed his head against the wall again, effectively shutting him up. “Don’t want to hear it. The divisions have it in for us, Chaghan. They’re a spy. They must be. You’re endangering the entire unit, just because you…” she started ranting, but something stopped her, and she halted mid-sentence. Her gaze strayed south, sliding over his throat, and her brow furrowed. “ _Tenega_. Chaghan. What happened to your neck?”

Mentally, he cursed himself for forgetting his high collard jacket in Altan’s office. His hand flew to the familiar marbled scars, and he flinched at the sudden burst of pain when he traced them. New additions.

Qara narrowed her eyes. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say it looks like you were… burned…” she trailed off slowly, and Chaghan braced for the blow.

He could practically see the color drain from her face as it dawned on her, piece by terrible piece. “Oh. Shit. Chaghan.”

Failing miserably at hiding his blossoming flush, Chaghan efficiently twisted out of her grasp. “Leave me alone, Qara.”

“Not so fast.” She grabbed his shoulder and spun him around forcefully. Chaghan tried to slip away again, but she was far stronger than him, proving it pointless. Using her other hand, she swept his hair back, exposing the inflamed marks. “You are going to tell me _everything_ unless you want my falcons spying on you for _every second of every day_ until I learn it for myself.”

“ _Don’t touch me_.” Chaghan growled, catching her wrist and ripping it away, force just short of snapping the fine bones.

Qara never blinked, firmly unyielding. “Oh, _I_ can’t touch you.” She hissed, incensed. She pressed forward to whisper in his ear, hot breath washing over the gnarled scars. “But _he_ can?”

Chaghan flinched away, and the colors of the memory began to bleed, running together into a vague black. He stumbled back, released from the confines of his past selves’ movements into the whirls of the kaleidoscope. Chaghan was used to the odd distortions by now, but his stomach still twisted horribly as he recalled that vexing hour deep within the darkest corners of the Night Castle. Not a memory he had wanted to revive.

Gods, Daji was messing with him.

Used to waiting out the contortions, Chaghan tried looking around, examining the very threads of the scintillating chrysalis of flashing light and color. But this time the warping tornado didn’t stop.

Colors were peeling and splitting in midair, and the hurricane of illusions churned faster. Chaghan knew the twister wasn’t real, bound to the confines of his mind, but that didn’t stop him from cringing away from a streamer of light that whipped too close.

Now he was certain this was it. Daji could shatter his spirit easier than a hammer would fine china. He didn’t have the upper hand like last time, barging in with the element of surprise.

And only then did Chaghan truly wonder what would come of his death.

The Ketreyids would finally, ultimately destroy each other. With no one but Bekter left to run them, everyone still even remotely sane would turn on their ancient clan, and with good reason. The beating heart of the tribe was gone, leaving no cause for the others to linger.

The Sorqan Sira was gone forever. Kalagan’s final trial had failed. Their daughters had been murdered.

Leaving only their sons, one of which had successfully taken over, gaining control of the clan through pain and fear.

And the other was currently succumbing to the Empress's horrid will somewhere in the depths of the Imperial Palace entirely by his own actions.

Not to be negative or anything.

Deciding that fighting Daji now wouldn’t have any affect, Chaghan gave himself up to the whirling colors, killing his last shred of resistance. The splintering winds tossed him vigorously, and even within the vision he could feel their force.

A shrill voice boomed through the dream-space, lofty and tantalizing. “You think the fun is over, Naimad?”

Chaghan’s head shot up, hoping to trace the sound to a target, but the voice seemed to be coming from _everywhere,_ vibrating from the air itself.

“Oh no, my dear, we’ve just begun…”

And with that Daji drove Chaghan into yet another vision.

# CHAPTER SIX

⋟⪼⪻⋞

**_I_ _get it!_** He wanted to scream. _I’ve lived my own life already. I’ve seen all this before, just get to the point!_ But he found that he was once again no longer controlling his body, trapped in the memory from the inside. She had left him no choice but to watch.

At first, all Chaghan could see was his clan. There must have been at least a hundred Ketreyids circling him, surrounding him on all sides, weapons raised. Half the assembly were astride monstrous mounts, great beasts that might have stood nearly twice Chaghan’s height, stamping their shield-sized hooves and tossing their massive heads, agitated. Their riders were garbed in multiple layers of thick furs and skins, wrapped up to their eyes so that Chaghan couldn’t recognize anyone. Some of them were screaming at him, but individual voices were drowned out by a collective chanting that rose steadily in pitch, growing louder and louder until Chaghan was sure they were real all over again. Chaghan, who although he knew the spiritual realm better than his own, would never even have guessed it was a memory. If not for the disconcerting fact that this had never actually happened before. Possibly it was a scene Daji had conjured up from her own imagination just to frighten him?

One girl, comically small compared to the longbow she had trained on his heart, stepped forward from the rest, golden eyes glinting. “Don’t move, Suren.”

Chaghan lifted his arms to embrace his sister but froze when she suddenly dropped her sights, letting a single arrow fly to strike a figure at Chaghan’s feet. The man cried out when the arrow found its mark, convulsed, and went still. Chaghan hadn’t seen him there before. But Chaghan didn’t need to see him to know who it was.

“I _said_ , don’t move. Or he’ll be joining the rest of his kin sooner than is in your best interest.” Qara warned, glancing down for a spilt second.

He followed her gaze, and only then did Chaghan notice the thin sword in his grasp. And then all at once, he understood. He was dreaming. Or he _had been_ dreaming. Apparently Daji could conjure memories of dreams as well as memories of a past reality.

But Chaghan couldn’t distinguish this exact dream from its thousand brethren. It was the same thing every night. The exact scene varied, but the threat was always the same.

The Empress had set the Speerlies on his tribe back in the Second Poppy War to force their retreat, and the Ketreyids weren’t quick to forget. He barely remembered those scarlet nights himself, but from time to time, he would get a flash of fire, a child’s scream. His clan despised Speer; they knew that a god so powerful as the Vermilion Bird in the hands of such a primitive race spelled disaster every way one looked at it. They had worked to kill off the Speerlies before the massacre even occurred. But several had slipped through the cracks, and the Ketreyids wouldn’t rest until they’d taken out every last one. Chaghan had been raised to do just that. And he’d been fine with it too, he’d never cared for that race. They were too dangerous, barely managing to harness their god at all, and they couldn’t be trusted to use their power wisely, especially at the hands of the Nikara.

The Ketreyids had known of the last Speerly for years, hunted him secretly all the way from his childhood with Sinegard’s Strategy master, through his time at the Academy, and finally until he was assigned to the Cike, exactly where they wanted him. The twins had already been with the Cike for nearly a decade, a trap coiled and in position to spring with Chaghan slated for command, when the golden graduate from Sinegard arrived, stealing the succession of the Bizarre Children. Chaghan hadn’t known Altan was to be dispatched to the Cike, which in hindsight made perfect sense, until the Speerly showed up at the Night Castle one day and knocked all the pieces from the board.

Chaghan still remembered the precise moment Huleinin mentioned that the newcomer was the last Speerly. He remembered the look Qara shot him, the realization of what had to be done. He remembered how, in the beginning, he’d been eager, excited to finish his duty at last. Although Chaghan was a full-time assassin, Altan had been Chaghan’s only real target for years. If he succeeded here, the twins’ clan might have let them back into the fold, withdrawing the exile on Kalagan’s relatives.

But the following week proved him very, very wrong. Chaghan, being Chaghan, had tried to intimidate the Speerly into giving up his place for commander, tried making jabs at Speer, not letting him forget for a minute what the Speerlies had done to his clan. But Altan was so frustratingly unperturbed, casually nonchalant about everything and anything Chaghan threw at him, even if it was forced. Sometimes, if Chaghan managed to strike a nerve, he would snap back, but never more. It was infuriating to meet someone who had such total control.

Chaghan truly wouldn’t have cared otherwise, but no matter how hard he tried, it was impossible to hate the Speerly. Chaghan knew he should have seen Altan as the prey. But all he ever _did_ see was the shy, lost boy who spoke with no one but Suni and seldom smiled, although when he did, Chaghan had to admit it was terribly attractive.

When Qara had noticed the way her brother looked at the Speerly, she cautioned him to stay away, warning him not to get too attached. She reminded him Altan was still the victim, was still who they were after. She advised him not to let his heart get in the way.

And Chaghan had tried so very hard to listen. He really had. He knew the consequences. He knew that he would have to kill Altan soon enough, and he knew it would crush him when he did. But he couldn’t seem to remember this whenever the Speerly was in the room.

And then, of course, Altan took him out into the mountains for three days, and Chaghan’s whole world shattered in a single night.

But although everything had changed for him, the same couldn’t be said of his duty. The Ketreyids were unforgiving, standing firm against his insistence for more time. No matter how he pleaded, his words fell on deaf ears.

Every month, the albino raven arrived with a letter from the far north. And every month, Chaghan burned the scroll, watching the flames consume his clan's harsh threats and tormenting prophecies. But they never gave up, threatening to send another assassin, threatening to extract his sister and torture her until he gave in. He never did, and the Ketreyids never followed through on anything, so that’s how things stayed for two wonderful years.

If he could forget that the only reason he was there was because his clan had exiled him, Chaghan’s years with the Cike were probably the greatest years of his life. He spent his days training with his sister in the verdant valleys of the Wudang Mountains, exploring his power in ways he’d never before been allowed. And his nights with his commander, curled against the man he was destined to murder without fear for his life. The Ketreyids couldn’t reach him there. For the first time in his life, he was honestly, blissfully free.

But from the dreams.

Every. Single. Night. Even when he slept nestled in Altan’s arms, he couldn’t rid himself of the fear. It lurked behind every second they were separated. And when Altan pulled him close, it grew even worse. Chaghan always fought the twinge of qualm, the way he ached in the deepest places when Altan’s lips were pressed to his.

The dreams never ceased, even when the letters started trickling to a halt, until they desisted entirely. Chaghan had begun to believe that the Sorqan Sira was sending the nightmares, forcing them into his head every night as a reminder of what the Ketreyids had promised to do. What _he himself_ had promised to do.

He found himself staring past the shaking blade in his grasp to the bloodied figure sprawled before him, slightly blurred from the rouge tears welling in his eyes. This happened every night. He knew what came next.

Qara lowered her bow quietly, approaching her brother with caution, and the Ketreyids silenced in a rolling wave, an unspoken command spilling through their ranks. 

“Chaghan. It doesn’t have to be like this.” She murmured, halting just on the other side of the splayed form on the ground between them. “You can still come back. It’s not too late. All you have to do is finish what you started.” She circled around to his side slowly, trailing her slender fingers over his shoulder blades in a silent signal. The white raven dove from out of nowhere, settling on his shoulder in a ruffle of snowy feathers. Chaghan fought the urge to flinch, focusing on the body thrown to the sand.

“This is what you were raised for.” Qara continued softly. “The one and only thing we ever asked you do for us. Look around, Chaghan.” She spread her hands to the crowd of assembled Ketreyids. To all the hundred faces marbled with twisting burns. To all the orphans and widows, families stolen by the fire.

Chaghan didn’t know if it was a figment of his imagination, or if a hoarse scream echoed through the dreamscape, sending shivers down his spine. It was the same scream that haunted every nightmare from Chaghan’s childhood. The same scream he heard every time Altan summoned the fire.

The scream of his mother, burning at the hands of a feral Speerly.

“Look what they did to us.” Qara growled. “You know it. You know he wouldn’t hesitate. You know what he is, and what he would do to us. To _you_.” The raven’s talons tightened on his shoulder, piercing his skin. Chaghan could almost feel the biting pain through the dream.

“Just give me more time.” He begged. “I can fix him. He’s still sane- he’s stable enough.” Chaghan insisted, but even he knew it wasn’t true. His helpless pleas sounded pathetic, weak in his own ears.

“Oh Chaghan.” His sister took his hand, golden eyes shining. “You’ve forgotten who you are. You’ve forgotten what _he_ is. Gods do not love monsters.”

Tears were coursing thick and hot down his cheeks now. Chaghan always knew, in the deepest part of himself, that they were nothing more than harmless dreams, that his commander was safe, that he couldn’t hurt him here. But in the moment, when he looked into those blazing eyes, alight with such beautiful fire, he couldn’t bring himself to kill the Speerly.

Qara’s other hand closed over Chaghan’s fist, cloaking the white knuckles on the sword’s hilt.

“Now, Chaghan.” She breathed.

“ _No._ ” He whispered, but he knew it was no use. It always ended this way. He could only face it.

“Kill him.” Qara ordered. “Or you know how I will feel it.”

Yes, he knew. He knew how they would slaughter him if he couldn’t do this, and Qara would be forced to die too, chained to him by the bond they’d never before regretted.

Yes, he knew. That had never made it any easier.

“Kill him.” She repeated, voice rising slightly in pitch.

Do it. It’s just a dream. Kill him, and this ends. Kill him, and you’re free for another day. Until, or course, tomorrow night, when this will happen all over again. And you will have no choice. You will kill him. Every time.

You will kill him.

“Kill him.”

Gods do not love monsters. Do it.

Chaghan squeezed his eyes shut, but it did nothing to stem the tears. _Pull yourself together, Suren. Since when did you get so emotional? You’re an_ assassin _for gods’ sake._

“ _Kill him._ ” Qara hissed once more, voice dropping dangerously low. Her nails dug into Chaghan’s wrist and he stifled a gasp.

 _Monsters._ They are all monsters. _He_ is a monster.

You cannot love him.

You do not love him.

Chaghan opened his eyes again, leveling the sword despite the blur of his tears. And with one even, fluid movement, he brought the blade down through the man’s chest.

Altan screamed. Seized and went still.

The raven screeched, taking off into the night, and the Ketreyids erupted in triumphant yells. Chaghan ignored Qara’s beaming smile and her praising hand on his shoulder. He sunk to his knees beside the body as the dreamscape swirled and stretched until it sunk from his mind and faded into the shadows within his deepest soul, where it waited for another lurking night to torment him.

He hadn’t won, and perhaps he never truly would, but he could, at least, continue to resist. He could continue to fight back against the Sorqan Sira’s iron will, even if it killed him from the inside out, a poison creeping through his veins ever so slowly toward his heart.

He could, at least, prepare for the day when this would no longer remain a faraway dream.

⋟⪼⪻⋞

**Chaghan jolted awake, stifling** a scream. He dragged himself up to his elbows, gasping. He would never grow accustom to those nightmares. It would never get any less painful. Even if he killed Altan a thousand times over. And it seemed as if he had. Chaghan couldn’t put himself in physical pain to keep awake without hurting Qara, so he dreaded every single night, when he would have to kill Altan again. Over and over. And every night, it only ever got worse.

But what did it mean that, in the end of all things, he _could?_

Chaghan stared at the Speerly dozing beside him. Altan looked so vulnerable in that moment, perfectly unaware of the assassin in his bed.

Dropping his head back to the sheets, Chaghan blinked back more tears. If he told Altan everything, everything all the way from the beginning, his orders, the dreams, he couldn’t begin to guess at what reaction he would receive. But Chaghan couldn’t possibly imagine _that_ conversation going well. _Erm. So. Hello. By the way, I might have forgotten to mention that I’ve kind of been out to kill you. As in, this entire time. But please don’t hate me?_

Chaghan didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

So, drawing Altan closer and burying his face against the Speerly’s chest, he fell asleep with his arms tucked around the only person in the entire world he wasn’t allowed to love.

He dreamt of nothing but the fire.

# CHAPTER SEVEN

⋟⪼⪻⋞

**When present-day-Chaghan** opened his eyes again, he was not at all surprised to find the Vipress’s deep golden one staring right back.

At first, he thought she’d released him from the hypnosis, that they were back in the material world, but instead they seemed to be standing, or hovering, in a void of sorts. The endless, black abyss stretched all around them, but although it was dark, the Empress shone bright as ever against the vacuity. She seemed to glow from somewhere within, illuminating the asomatous space surrounding her like a brilliant beacon. Her single, amber iris appeared to pulse in a mesmeric rhythm. She was so frighteningly beautiful, in a severe, sharp way, and although Chaghan had never been interested in women, he couldn’t help but feel drawn to her in a way he didn’t quite understand.

Her scarlet lips quirked into a half smile and the trance broke.

Chaghan blinked several times, trying to recall what had just happened and coming up empty handed. He had gone after Daji, insane, but he was pretty sure that’s what he’d done. And then she’d… attacked him? Hypnotized him? Probably. All he could remember were flashes of color. Bright golden eyes. Frothing silver waves. Dark brown skin. Ashen white feathers. _Feathers?_

Chaghan’s gaze snapped up when the Empress’s cold tone rang out, acerbic.

“Isn’t this the part where you kill me?”

 _“What?!”_ Chaghan asked, bewildered. That was his line!

Daji smiled politely, batting her single eye innocently. “Oh, I supposed I’ve misunderstood, dear. I was under the impression that you were here to finish this.”

“But wasn’t that- didn’t you… I _was_ \- but then I thought- _what?”_ He repeated, utterly dumbfounded. There was a moment of deathly silence containing no answer, so Chaghan tried again. “You have- you’re stronger than me. _Far_ more powerful. Why… why let me win?”

“You said it yourself.” She purred. Her fine skirts swished smoothly as she begun to circle him, prowling like the mountain lions that dotted the Steppe. Clearly the usual intimidation tactic of choice with her. Chaghan made a point to stare straight ahead, focusing on scrounging up details of the past twenty minutes instead of the lurking Vipress to his back. But that didn’t stop her toxic grin from creeping into his mind as she spoke. “There _are_ no shamans more powerful than you.”

Chaghan blinked. He _had_ said that. Months ago, when ridding Rin of the Woman that plagued her, guarding Rin’s power, keeping it from her. Mai’rinnen Tearza had been being difficult and he’d declared she couldn’t stop him. That _no one_ could stop him. He’d truly believed it, too. Until he’d rescued Rin from Daji’s clutches back in Lusan at the head of the rebellion. Until he’d discovered how inhumanly stable the Empress really was. Surely, she could beat him easily. _If_ she wanted to.

“I assume that now you’re going to tell me how you know that.” Chaghan drawled, trying to appear as if the direct quote hadn’t rattled him.

Daji grinned, obliging. “I saw it all, my child.” Trailing closer, she cupped his face in her oddly cool hands.

Chaghan stared firmly at the gold necklace wrapping her throat. He wouldn’t give in this time. He wouldn’t let her bewitch him any farther. _He_ had the power here; it was just a question of when to use it. Chaghan forced a steady breath, fighting the urge to rip her hands away. “I don’t understand.”

“Ah the Ketreyids, so blind past their own power.” Daji clicked her tongue like a disapproving teacher. She raised her arms, spreading her immaterial hands to the void, and a troika of luminous figures glimmered into existence, shining with a pale, transparent glow.

Chaghan choked when the hovering apparitions of his sister and mother appeared before him, radiating a soft white light. Qara was beaming up at Kalagan with a slightly mischievous grin. His mother looked as though she were trying to stay serious, but a small smile was creeping onto her lips. Chaghan’s chest bloomed with warmth before he remembered they were mere illusions. They might have been safe somewhere, together in each other’s arms again, but they were dead to this world. Chaghan’s throat tightened and he fought the tears’ escape.

His family’s pale faces were suddenly lit by a muted, crimson light from behind, and Chaghan whirled around, even though he knew who he would find there.

Altan looked so beautiful then, perfectly frozen in time. Chaghan’s heart ached at the familiar messy way his hair was tied up, the soft smile that seldom graced his lips. His irises were a deep brown, nearly black, nothing like the wild scarlet of the savage warrior. This wasn’t Altan the Speerly, but rather the rare, gentle version of Altan that Chaghan had always remembered. The version he loved.

Chaghan reached out a shaking hand to caress his cheek, the statue unresponsive. But then his fingers brushed the scar that ran jagged across the bridge of Altan’s nose.

And the world turned to fire.

Chaghan felt as though an invisible force had slammed into his chest, and he stumbled back, blinded by the screaming scarlet and yellow flashes of flame. That _scar._

The memories came shrieking back. His sister. His commander. His sister forcing him to kill his commander. Everything Daji had shown him pounded back through his mind in a blinding burst, threatening to spilt his skull. The yurt and the river and the duel and the dreams… and… _and…_

There was a harsh cackle, and Chaghan’s gaze jerked back to the Vipress he’d forgotten was there. She looked smug, nodding in answer to his unasked question.

“I can draw up whatever I want.” She flicked a wrist and the conjured characters faded back into the void. “And I wanted it all.”

Chaghan was awed and horrified in equal measure. “You mean you saw…” He trailed off, dazed.

She had wormed her way into his mind, that was nothing new, but going to the impossible lengths of re-playing his _entire life?_ No one could just _do_ that. Not so quickly as she had. But that must have been it. The memories Chaghan had experienced all over again were just fleeting seconds of the years she’d devoured over the span of minutes. Daji hadn’t been trying to show him something, he realized. She’d been looking for herself.

“I saw _everything._ ” She confirmed, smirking. “Every second. Every mistake. Every step toward the deaths of everyone you know.”

Chaghan didn’t rise to the bait. The only people he’d ever cared about were either already dead or still very much alive and fending off the entire Imperial Guard somewhere overhead. He wouldn’t have given a damn if every last advocate for Vaisra’s Republic had been murdered. Chaghan had never truly cared for the southern Empire’s welfare; he had no reason to morn its collapse. Chaghan looked at things on a far larger scale than that, and this world could certainly keep on spinning without the Nikara Empire.

“Yes. I saw it all.” Daji stepped closer, causing Chaghan to jump back instinctively, although he knew that distance wouldn’t do anything in the face of immaterial power like hers. She grinned, relishing the control she held over him. She was enjoying this far too much. “Who knew you were so hopelessly tragic.”

“Because of _you_.” He snarled, crossing his arms defensively. She appeared nonplused, so Chaghan jumped on the cue, eager to elaborate. “ _You,_ Daji, are the one single person who made my life living hell.”

Daji opened her mouth to respond, but whatever it was she had planned on saying, Chaghan didn’t want to hear.

“Don’t give me that look. You know what I’m talking about.” He snapped. Daji glared at him, and Chaghan was surprised at how good it felt to throw this back in her face after all the years of silent hatred. “ _You_ are the one who betrayed me. _You_ are the one who sold my clan’s land for temporary loyalty. _You_ are the one who set the Speerlies on my family, the one who killed my mother and orphaned a thousand children like me.”

“I was just trying to protect my country, my people.” Daji demanded. “All along, that was all it ever was.”

“Then who sold Altan?” Chaghan fumed. “I thought Speerlies _were_ your people.”

Her voice went quiet, softer than he’d ever heard it. “I don’t care what you think, as long as you know that we weren’t trying to hurt you. That was never the goal. I didn’t want to harm your clan or his, but I did what I had to.” Her voice broke. It was the first time Chaghan had ever seen Daji lose her grip. She was always so composed, serene and cool headed.

“You were like a brother to me.” She whispered. The look on Daji’s face suggested that she’d never shared that before, and it was harder than she’d expected. “You all were. I hated to hurt you. Every time the Federation demanded more land, we despised what we did to your clan to gain it. But you must understand. You must understand that was the only option. Without the Federation, we had no allies. No protection from the Hesperians.”

She reached out a delicate hand and laid it on Chaghan’s arm. “Nikan is a dead Empire, child. I was only fighting to keep the vultures from its corpse.” Daji whispered, sounding truly honest in that single moment. “I’ve only ever fought for my people. For Riga and Ziya. For every last child who was forced into this life.”

“You are pathetic.” Chaghan sneered. “You can’t defend this.”

“No!” Daji cried out. “ _Listen_. Listen, _please_.”

“I’m done forgiving, Daji. We took you in as one of our own. We raised you, _saved_ you. From _them._ You’d never have grown so powerful without us. And what do you do? Seize the throne to beat us back, create an ally with the nation that shattered Nikan in the first place, and sell our land to ‘ _protect your Empire_.’ What about your family? No, suddenly keeping the _traitors_ happy was too important-”

“They were millions of innocents; it was the only way-” Daji pleaded.

“Since when do you care about innocents, Daji?”

“I _care_ -”

“Damn right you care. You cared a whole lot when you sold your last Speerlies to the Federation to be dissected like rats.”

To her credit, Daji looked genuinely apologetic. “I didn’t want to hurt them either! I swear, I had to do it-” Chaghan had never seen Daji so broken. She was scrambling for an excuse for every horrendous choice, and it wasn’t convincing in the least.

“You don’t have to do anything for your _enemies_ -”

“Well, I don’t have any _allies_ , so what would you have suggested?!” She shrieked.

“You had _us!”_ Chaghan remembered how kind she’d always been to the twins, at least before she deserted them for the Federation. But in his dreams, she never left. She fought for the clan that saved her life, she fought beside them all, and together, they were unbeatable. Tseveri had never been murdered, nor his aunt or sister. The twins had never been exiled to the Cike. The Cike had never even been _created_ in the first place. It was Chaghan’s perfect fantasy, and he often wondered what would have happened had the Trifecta allied with them from the beginning. “We _would have_ stood with you if you hadn’t gone and-”

“A _single clan_ is nothing! You don’t understand who we were up against!”

Chaghan wasn’t loyal to his tribe. Not anymore. Every reason he’d had to stay with them was gone. But no matter what their actions had bought him over the years he still felt the need to defend his family. And Daji was pushing it.

“ _The Ketreyids,_ ” she hissed. “So high and mighty they could take on two freaking _empires!”_ He could practically see the rage rolling off her in waves like heat distortion from a blazing inferno.

“Well at least the high part’s true.” She spat, hatred wrapping every word.

Oooohhh that was crossing the line.

“You’re going to regret this all very soon, Daji.” Chaghan warned through gritted teeth.

The Empress's expression softened uncharacteristically, and Chaghan wondered if the sudden tears welling in her golden eye were just a trick of the light.

“Oh, my child,” Daji whispered. “there is _nothing_ I do not regret.”

 _That_ threw him off.

In the fraction of a second it took for Chaghan to recover from the confession, Daji had already pounced. Her surviving eye flashed once, bright gold against her pearly skin, and with a screeching cackle she slammed into Chaghan’s mind with a shattering ferocity.

But he was well past prepared this time, countering with a strike of his own.

He struggled for a second, fighting to hold Daji off while sweeping through his own mind for events long past, for a scrap of the love he used to feel. Flying back nearly two decades, he spun together every golden memory he could find. Every hint of Daji’s face, every kind word she’d ever said to him. How he’d always looked up to her like an older sister, amazed by her serpentine ability. How he’d always strived to match her, inspired by her control and the impossible power she wielded so effortlessly thanks to her rare trilateral bond. How he and Qara had always dreamt of growing a bond so rich they could take on the heavens, a bond equal to that of the Trifecta. How he’d always thought that he too would someday fight by their side.

He gathered every last tinge of Daji’s compassion, every last smile she’d ever shared, and let them burst from his mind, flooding the empty void with a golden light, the same saffron glow of Daji’s eyes. The entire immaterial plane shone with the gleaming memories, blazing for several blinding seconds.

Then a surging wave of pure darkness slammed down all around them. All the bright, shimmering visions were suddenly swept from the void and replaced with the shattering slap of betrayal that had killed every ambition to follow in Daji’s footsteps.

A final memory blossomed before them: Kalagan restraining a struggling Qara as she writhed in her mother’s arms, trying desperately to chase after Daji as she rode away. Chaghan was hunched on the ground behind them, shaking with tears. When Daji finally disappeared over the horizon, Kalagan released Qara and she crumpled to the sand beside her brother. They clung to one another, sobbing, as the other Ketreyids shook their heads, explaining the Trifecta didn’t deserve their kindness, that the twins should best forget them.

But oh, Chaghan hadn’t forgotten.

And he wasn’t about to let her forget either.

The Empress's face was lit with the soft golden glow from the fading vision. In that meager light, Chaghan noticed faint tear tracks down her porcelain cheeks. But even if they were just immaterial conjurings, shadows of a true emotion replicated here in the spiritual plane, they were still there. She still remembered him.

Her gaze darted back to Chaghan and Daji’s features twisted into something resembling remorse.

 _“Taonami.”_ She whispered, extending a trembling hand.

Chaghan faltered at the infliction of his native dialect. Daji had always been particularly terrible with the Ketreyid language, but she was unmistakable now.

_Brother._

Chaghan tried very hard to mask how much that got to him.

Daji took an incorporeal step closer. “ _Chaghan._ ”

He flinched back. She’d hadn’t used his real name since he was a child.

“Chaghan. _Please_.” She was so close now he could have touched her if either of them had been solid beings. “I know I’ve done unforgivable things, and… I don’t blame you for despising me for it.” She looked so sincerely guilty in that moment. “And I… Chaghan, I really am sorry. I never saw you for what you were. What _we_ could have been.”

She reached out her hand to him in the offer he’d waited his entire life for.

“ _Join me._ Join me, and together, we can do wonderous things.” She breathed. “We can save this world from the doom for which it has been written. You’ve seen it. You know what will happen if we can’t defend it. This world will fall with you, Chaghan. If we unite, you know this, if we unite, _nothing_ will stand in our way. You could save them all. The Nikara. The Ketreyids. The Speerlies. Every last life you ever shielded from me. I will no longer be your enemy. I never truly was.”

Chaghan knew he should have retaliated, should have run, or attacked, or done _something_ , but he was captivated. The smallest spark at the back of his mind was shrieking for him to strike _now_ while his prey was weak, but something about her riveting promise was too entrancing.

“Just imagine it for a moment.” Daji’s voice was dancing with hope, vibrating with the potential of this glorious future. “What would that look like? The greatest shamans ever to walk this earth, undivided for the first time in centuries. Just think of what we could do if we weren’t constantly warring with each other. Don’t we have a unified purpose? We can fight for it _together_ this time. Side by side.”

Chaghan couldn’t differentiate between the hypnosis at play and his honest hunger to accept. This was his childhood hero, offering him his life’s aspiration on a silver platter. He wanted to say yes, wanted it so badly, to agree now. He might have been powerful, but in the end, he was still just one shaman. All of the magnificent things he could do with her backing him. All the people he could save. He needed only surrender.

Daji opened her palm to him, inviting. “All you have to do is join me, and all this is over.” The seductive purr of her voice was horribly tempting; he wished he could sink into that voice, never think, never resist again, a mindless soldier. “We will protect this world as you never could have alone. We will save them all. Together.”

There was a long silence as Chaghan’s mind reeled, spinning through the possibilities. Daji’s golden eye, wide and pure, seemed to be calling to him, drawing him in. When he tried to look away, he found that he couldn’t. Or maybe it was that he wouldn’t.

He’d looked away for long enough.

He grasped her outstretched fingers.

“Together.” Said Chaghan.

Daji beamed at him, eyes gleaming with tears. “Chaghan. I always knew you would see reason.” She leaned in closer, murmuring to him like a mother would a frightened child. “I always knew you were stronger than the rest of them.”

Something about the way she phrased it struck Chaghan in a way he didn’t quite understand. He stiffened, snapping out of the trance-like state in which she had enticed him. _What’s_ that _supposed to mean?_ The Ketreyids had taught her _everything._ _She’d_ always been the weak one, the ungrateful one. Chaghan slid back into the old mantras hammered into him over years when his clan's teachings backed his every move. But maybe they did have some sense to them after all. What the hell did he think he was doing, siding with the _Vipress_? The false-hope-giving, clan-betraying, insane-alliance-forming, Speerly-selling, power-hungry Vipress.

Where did he truly think this was going to go? Allying with the Empress meant losing everything else. It meant losing any Ketreyids who would fight for him. It meant losing _Altan_. And for what? What could _she_ give him, really? Her quest to protect the Nikara ended at that. She was too blind to see beyond her own Empire; they all were. No matter what they might have claimed, rulers’ concern was saved solely for their people, and they wouldn’t lift a finger to save the citizens of the opposing force, soldiers and innocents alike.

Daji might have cared about the children of Nikan; Chaghan knew how dedicated she was to her country. She had always fought with such devotion for the select things of her passion. The only problem was, there weren’t a whole lot of those, and Chaghan was fairly sure his cause didn’t quite fit the category. He would have sacrificed the survival of an empire for the good of the rest of Earth. She was sacrificing the Earth for the legacy of her empire. She would never back down, and neither would he, not as long as he lived. This might be the last chance he got to end it.

Suddenly her fingers felt too cold in his, but he forced a smile to maintain the fragile mask of allegiance. She still believed she had him.

“You’re not going to regret this.” Daji whispered, a massive grin splitting her face.

“I will always regret this.” Chaghan apologized.

And the void shattered.

At Chaghan’s command, the shards of the abyss were shredded to razor fragments, fracturing in a splintering song that seemed a melodic combination of breaking glass and metallic clatters.

Daji screeched, throwing up her immaterial arms to shield herself from the raining shards, despite their being mere illusions. But then Chaghan noticed the ripping gashes littering her moon dusted flesh where the fragments were slitting her skin.

These weren’t just shards of the spiritual plane, Chaghan realized. She’d never brought him there at all. Daji had plunged straight into his mind, directly into his own psyche, his spirit at its barest. He’d had this all wrong. They weren’t on her ground at all. He controlled everything here. He controlled _her_.

Chaghan threw his arms wide and a hundred golden memories erupted into the empty space above them, dancing and spinning with dazzling light. Daji, guiding Chaghan’s hand as he scrawled lopsided characters in the sand. Daji, pouting playfully at Chaghan while he giggled at her clumsy attempt at mounting a towering warhorse. Daji, secretly hypnotizing Bekter into dancing like a chicken to make Chaghan laugh.

And all at once, the gleaming memories flared crimson. Daji’s kind face, shining from a hundred glittering visions, twisted into a serpentine demon, thrashing and writhing.

Chaghan slammed his hands back together, clasping them with a visible shockwave that shot out in a shimmering circle all around him. When it sliced through the scarlet memories, they exploded with a sonic power, blasting through the void with a hailstorm of pain and light. The shards hurtled for Daji, tearing at her body and opening new incisions.

The Vipress did not bleed. When the fragments found her skin, the slits they raked along her flesh seemed to pour rays of brilliant light, beams of sunshine shining from every slash. It was terrible. It was beautiful. The power of the love he had always believed she could feel was so much stronger than any hate. She would perish at her own hand.

Chaghan clenched a fist and the shards retreated, flocking to his side.

Daji collapsed, even if just in the mind scape, gasping. Her skin was shredded with arcing slices, glowing with the same inner light that shone from her eye, now brighter than ever. She snarled up at him, heaving ragged breaths through virtually speared lungs, but she could do nothing to stop his approach.

“ _Chaghan._ ” Daji hissed between pants. “You truly think you can win this?”

Chaghan let several shards of memories dance around his hand in an open threat, trailing closer. “It would appear I already have.”

“You are all such fools.” She wheezed. “You don’t understand what will come of this.”

“Yes, witch, we understand exactly what is to come of this. Nikan will be rid of a malevolent Empress who would poison the whole damn ocean to get what she wants.”

“This is getting out of hand.” Daji snapped, struggling to sit up. “You children are going to crush this world with an unfathomable power you should never have found-”

“It would serve you well to remember that us children are the ones who gave _you_ your own power in the first place, and we can take it away. You may have pleaded the gods for power, ascended that mountain on your own, but you could never have survived their wrath without our clan behind you. So unless you were planning on having that wicked little mind of yours shattered, I would shut up right now.” Chaghan tried to pretend that he wasn’t talking to someone nearly twice his age. “Now you listen to me. If you believed for one second I would ever aid your sinister plots, you’re more idiotic than I thought. I am intent on salvaging the country you destroyed, not demolishing everyone who ever dared oppose you.” He flicked a wrist and a dozen shards split from the cloud spinning around him, circling Daji’s neck to hover poised over the soft flesh. “So. Here are your options. We can start just fighting. I will probably win, but that’s still your choice. Or you can surrender. And all this can be behind us.”

Daji scoffed, hacking up golden blood while she was at it. “You wish.”

“This really isn’t all that hard, Daji.” Chaghan insisted. “Give it up, you’re done. Abdicate, and you get to live. Surrender your throne now and you go free.”

“And who would rule in my stead?” She raised a perfectly thin eyebrow, masking her reactions as though she hadn’t been panting hard seconds before. “It’s not like there’s anyone left.”

“Frankly, I don't care.” Chaghan said in a dull, uninterested voice. “As long as it’s not you. I could name several coalitions that would seem to have their own plans for this Empire.”

“They also have plans with Hesperia. You think our Empire will last long at the hands of those devils?”

“I don’t give a damn about your Empire.” Chaghan snapped, and the shards flared in their dance around Daji’s throat. “I want to protect the _people_. Let Nikan collapse, but the Nikara deserve a life.”

“I _am_ protecting my people. I don’t need the help of some nonsensical Hinterlander freaks.” She spat, but there was a flicker of something new behind her disgusted tone.

Chaghan’s eyes narrowed, and he let the shards dig into Daji’s neck the slightest bit, earning a hiss from his prey. “Last chance, Nikara.” He leered, throwing her own barb back in her face.

Daji faltered, hesitating. Her eye flashed with a conflicting question.

Chaghan’s eyes widened at her pause.

But Daji’s lip simply curled into a sneer and she scowled at her own momentary weakness. _“Never.”_

Chaghan exhaled shakily, blinking away the uncertain look on Daji’s face, the way she had seemed swayed for just a second, a heart stopping, glorious second. A second long gone now. _I am so,_ so _sorry for this._ He wished he could tell her, but he knew her reaction would break his heart. Instead, he steeled himself, closing his eyes so that he couldn’t see his fallen childhood hero through his tears.

“I loved you once.” He whispered instead, twitching his fingers once. The shards obeyed at once.

The splintered fragments proceeded to swarm Daji’s limp form until Chaghan lost sight of her, assured of her life only by the high screams echoing from the cyclone of memories. The mass of black and flashing red tightened over her body, enveloping the Empress in a cloud of glinting glass. Chaghan was certain that would have been the end of it, the Vipress vanquished at last, shredded in a whirlwind of her own deception and betrayal.

But then a blinding light burst from the center of the flock, beams of golden sunshine shooting out into the abyss from between the gaps in the flitting shards. The glare was so rich that Chaghan had to shield his eyes, stumbling back in panicked confusion. When he forced his eyes open against the brilliance, the sight stole his breath away.

Su Daji was rising into the void, limbs splayed, and head thrown back, body illuminated with a soft golden light as though the sun was lit in her chest, flaming under her skin. Her flesh had cracked and split where the shards had razored her body, spilling a blazing light that shone in dancing rays around her. Her whole eye glowed a deep golden, flashing in the darkness, and her face was illuminated in the ruthless light, ebony hair whipping around her as if she alone were caught in a thrashing wind. Suspended there in the void, she glowed brighter than the stars themselves, captivating and dangerous and so terribly beautiful.

A low hiss hummed from the void all around them, and Chaghan snapped back to reality, sweeping the shards in an arc above the flaring beacon that was the Empress and slamming them back down, pelting the gleaming goddess. They scoured her skin with ravenous hunger, scoring and carving her body until the Empress no longer resembled a human but rather a brilliant sun, pouring a light that grew harsher with every slash. The hissing intensified, growing to a shriek that Chaghan could feel in his very marrow. He gasped when the light bursting from the Vipress’s chest spun together in the air, twisting itself into a thrashing serpent that coiled over her body, snapping and writhing.

Nüwa no longer trusted her conduit to handle this on her own.

The goddess slithered over Daji’s shoulders, tightening around her prey’s neck and hissing demands in her ear. “Kill him.” She ordered urgently. “Murder him. _Destroy_ him.” Nüwa whispered another venomous command as Daji struggled weakly in her coils, too low for Chaghan to perceive.

Daji’s single iris flickered back to normal, losing its ethereal glow as she locked eyes with Chaghan, expression tense, fearful, like he had never seen it.

But whatever that might have meant, Chaghan never got the chance to find out.

The viper’s tail, whip-thin and hard as gemstones, even on the spirit plane, flashed out and swept Chaghan from his feet. Nüwa hailed another lash over his sprawled body when Chaghan tried to escape, keeping him down as she tortured more power from her conduit.

Constricting the coils looping around Daji’s neck, she was crushing the defenseless woman in her quest for power. “More,” Nüwa rasped. _“Give me more.”_

Daji convulsed in the air, squeezing her eyes shut, movements jerking and stiff as Nüwa stole her breath and sanity with a cruel, delayed pace. The Vipress looked so vulnerable, powerless against the one and only thing that could harness her, the very source of the power she inflicted upon everyone else.

The great snake hissed another low insistence and Daji whimpered, trembling with the pure power coursing through her veins, threatening to consume her from within. Tears streaked her slashed cheeks, but she obeyed, fueling the goddess with whatever remaining strength she had. Daji wanted this victory even more than her goddess did.

Chaghan saw his window while the viper was momentarily distracted, struggling to his feet with difficulty. His chest was on fire from the whip of the goddess’s tail. Was it even possible to break a rib in the spirit world? He supposed he wouldn’t find out unless he ever returned to his own realm again, and any chance of that was slipping away with every second the goddess fought for control of her shaman’s mind.

Nüwa had noticed Chaghan’s effort to sweep the forgotten shards together into a whirling shield that surrounded him, protected him. She turned on Chaghan with an amused cackle, but before she could tease him about his feeble plan, a slender shard struck her straight between the eyes, sending a psychic shudder through the shimmering vision of her curling body. She roared in fury and there was a sudden flash of light, so bright it burst through the entire void, filling the whole of the space for a glaring second, before it went out with a thunderclap, knocking her mortal to the immaterial ground. Daji was thrown from the air, her shredded body cracking on the ground beside Chaghan. Chaghan could sense Daji’s control stuttering, her eyes glazing over as she was entranced by her own power. Chaghan didn’t have much time before Nüwa was at her strongest.

He ran for her, whipping shards at the golden goddess slithering through the air above, hoping to force her back into the darkness.

Nüwa merely laughed, twisting out of the way, and launching herself for him but the hundred shards darted together instantly, forming a clattering shield over Chaghan. The snake screamed in frustration and pain as she slammed into it instead, golden scales grating on the glittering memories. But never quite tearing.

Chaghan cursed his own ignorant effort. _Well, of freaking course. That would be immortality for you._

Chaghan may have been able to defeat Daji with his own broken memories of her, but the Empress was nothing more than a stumbling, weak mortal without her power. Nüwa was the goddess. What was the determination of a shaman against the power of the divine that had created his whole world? What was a single, helpless child… against the gods?

Chaghan knew he could never win. No one could truly beat a god. Not on their own territory, the spirit plane; the Pantheon.

But _wait._

This _wasn’t_ truly the Pantheon. This wasn’t truly the realm of gods. This was Chaghan’s own mind. The mind of a mortal being.

Who had the power here? It depended on how he looked at it. The only way shamans were allowed to exist were as portals for the gods from their world to this one. Otherwise, the gods could not descend to the realm of mortals; they were not solid, physical beings that could not grace a world such as the one of humans without aid. A human soul like Daji may not have been powerful on her own. But for all Nüwa’s strength, she was just as powerless without a portal to Earth.

So she was unstoppable _now,_ here while her conduit freely occupied Chaghan’s mind. Nüwa could never be defeated while her only link to the mortal world lived. But if Chaghan were to close the portal…

Chaghan’s stomach twisted.

Not _now._ Not when she had been _so close_ to choosing him.

But wasn’t that what he had come for? Wasn’t this his ultimate test, his final mission on Earth? He understood, now, why he had never truly considered release, never killed himself, even on those miserable, dark nights where all he wanted was the warmth of his mother’s smile or the comforting pressure of his sister’s mind against his own. He had held out, all this time, because a small part of his soul knew what his mind couldn’t. He needed to end this, for once and for all.

Daji’s body was glowing once more, a reverse silhouette against the pitch of the void. The cracks veining her skin were splitting wider over her body, her pale porcelain skin like fractured china, more fissures appearing with each strike from the furious viper. She couldn’t last much longer; soon Nüwa would splinter her metaphysical shield and Daji’s mind would be hers to command.

Chaghan was paralyzed, and not from the hypnosis. He knew he had to choose, _now,_ before the viper seized Daji’s mind. He _knew._ This woman had ruined his entire life. This woman had stolen his clan’s wisdom and power. Killed his mother. Sold Altan. This woman, surely, did not deserve to live. Whatever feeble defense Chaghan scraped up wasn’t enough for an opposing argument. What reason was there left to protect her? She had been kind to him at one time, but her recent actions far outweighed her prior kindness. Chaghan told himself Nikan would do better without an Empress like the Vipress had been. The sun would surely continue to rise without Su Daji.

As if Nüwa could read his mind, Daji suddenly screamed, limbs jerking and convulsing as her goddess drew on the last of her physical strength to channel her power through.

That shredded whatever hesitation he had left. There wasn’t time for this. The fate of the Nikara Empire was in Chaghan’s hands now. He had this choice. Let Nüwa overpower her conduit and leave her free to poison the human world without restraint. Or simply close the portal and end this all.

Chaghan steeled himself. This was not the same woman he’d loved. This was a monster. This was his mission. This was his choice.

While his mind had been occupied with tearing through his options and advantages, Chaghan’s body had seemed to know what it was doing. He was back on his feet, arms raised to the chaos as he began to chant in the ancient language of his clan’s ancestors. Chaghan took a single, shaky breath, closing his eyes. It still did nothing to block out the blazing light that flared from his chest, exploding out into the void. Chaghan didn’t so much see as _feel_ when the light shot through Nüwa’s body, slamming her back. The viper roared louder, spasming with the offensive power raking her body. Her deepest black eyes flashed a sharp gold just as his own light flashed outward, enveloping the three of them all in its brilliance.

Screams raised from within the blaze as it burned through skin and scales. Even Chaghan was not immune to the insane power he had released. The light was fire and ice all at once, ripping through him like a red-hot blade. The pain was worse than if someone had stabbed him, over and over, his whole body shrieking with agony. The screams grew louder, and Chaghan was unsure if they were his own or echoing from somewhere deep within the glare where the woman and her goddess alike suffered the assault of daggers of light.

Chaghan was in so much pain that he could hardly maintain the blaze, barely managing to summon more sunlight, gathering power from the very fabric of the universe itself. Without a specific god or goddess to worship, Chaghan had always drawn his power from nature, which was bursting with it. He and his clan had protected the Earth for centuries, and in return, the cosmos granted them with this higher power. Chaghan typically favored the light of the Sun, drawing on it for blinding flashes and burning pain like the blades he felt now.

Everything was so terribly bright. Chaghan could scarcely remember the meaning of darkness; it seemed that his eyes would surely shatter from the glare of his own power. And the _noise_. The rushing in his ears could not block out the sound of screams, so sharp and yet distant in a way Chaghan could not have described. The shrieks overwhelmed his senses so that he could not focus on anything but their din as they peaked louder and louder through the endless light pouring from his body.

But still it was not enough. He needed to give everything he had to this last burst of light, to this last surge of the power he’d never brought himself to use on the Vipress. He reached deeper than ever before, far into the cosmos, magic as old as time, draining power from the stars and heavens themselves. He twisted all the quivering, dazzling light into a bolt of hard, raw power, growing so strong that even he could no longer restrain it.

Chaghan threw every last shred of fury and resolve and hatred and love into that final burst of light, erupting from his trembling body with a shrieking power the strength of which he had never summoned before. It ripped through the void, tearing its way through the abyss-turned-radiance to find the Empress, struggling in the slicing, razored beams twining around her cracked body. The light narrowed to a pin-pointed laser, a concentrated ray of pure power that shot through her chest. The beam lit her body from the inside, its brilliant light shining through the cracks in her skin, casting spindly patterns like broken glass into the void around her. Each burst of light sent more cracks creeping over her body. Another strike and the glass would shatter. Chaghan was so close, he just had to summon the ultimate push, the final blow. But some small part of Chaghan, something buried very deep within, paused. He glanced up, his control on the light wavering for a split second.

Just then, as if she could feel his gaze, Daji jerked her head up to look him in the eye. Hers was the deepest, most beautiful brown, nothing like the seductive gold of the Vipress.

And just then, a vision flashed in Chaghan’s mind.

Daji, staring up at him, single eye wide when he’d asked her to surrender her crown, her rule. Daji, honestly unsure what to choose. _She hesitated._ It wasn’t much, but it was there.

Chaghan faltered and the light blinked, dimming.

Daji understood something on his face, she reached for him, extending a shaking, fissured arm.

Her lips formed the words _Chaghan, I’m-,_ just before the final, blinding beam shot her straight through the chest, and her last words morphed to a heartbreaking cry of pain.

 _“Wait!”_ Chaghan screamed, grasping at the light as it pierced through her broken body.

He was too late.

The Empress shattered.

⋟⪼⪻⋞

**Chaghan was ripped from** his own mind and thrown back to Earth with a forceful wave of slamming darkness. He found himself sprawled on the midnight marble, the tiles slick with blood, scarlet and gold alike. The Empress’s body had vanished.

And resting in the pool of metallic blood lay a small, gilded object that made Chaghan’s breath catch in his throat.

A crown.

⋟⪼⪻⋞

**When Chaghan finally burst** into the light, he wanted nothing more than to melt back into the shadows again.

The sounds of clashing metal and the screams of the dying overwhelmed his senses after the pooling darkness of the tunnel, and Chaghan’s eyes struggled to adjust to the glaring chandeliers. In the light of a million blazing candles that bathed the room in a shade of golden that sent shivers down Chaghan’s spine at the memory, a chaotic battle was illuminated.

The throne room was flooded with soldiers, scarlet and blue armor swarming together. _Mugen’s here too. What a lovely reunion this will be._ But the Militia and Federation soldiers were not fighting each other. Instead, the might of at least a thousand men now turned on a unified enemy.

Altan was backed against a wall, dueling hard, as though he hadn’t been holding off an entire army on his own. Disarming anyone who ventured too close with the same iron staff from before, the stronger metal withstanding his inferno, Altan fought as though he would never tire. Chaghan knew that in this state, that was quite possible. Altan would burn down the entire capitol if it came to that.

Chaghan could see the evidence of the past hour written all throughout the room, from the scorched corpses scattering the floor to the gilded walls painted in blood. The room visibly faded from gleaming golden walls and ornate décor on one end to ashen, flaking gray across the chamber in a dreadful ombre to where Altan was cornered, the floor and walls around him blackened and singed. Chaghan was surprised the western wall was even still standing in its condition; it was so charred that the sky was visible through crumbling patches in some places.

But for all the damage to the Imperial Palace itself, the troops seemed barely dented. For every fallen soldier, there were three to take their place, and gods know how many more crowded at the entrance. The sheer number of their ranks was staggering. It must have been at least an entire division’s worth, and then some. And with the endless hordes of reinforcements still pouring through the doors, this seemed an unwinnable battle.

Several squads of soldiers were dashing back and forth, carrying sloshing buckets of water to douse the dozen fires spreading though the room, but the fire prevailed. They should have known. It always had.

And still they fought; rows upon rows of archers were still attempting to get arrows through the blaze intact, and still failing. Chaghan even spotted a unit of Academy graduates, Altan’s own classmates. But even the skilled martial artists boldly facing the flames could not fight their way through the fire with lithe twists and perfect forms. Fire was an enemy upon which Sinegard did not practice. The fire had always been on their side. It most certainly was not on their side now.

Chaghan knew time worked differently in the spirit realm; he could have been gone for minutes or hours, and Altan was still holding off on his own. But the steady bonfire roaring around his body was draining him slowly, and Altan was flagging. He had nowhere left to retreat and the Militia men advancing on him wielded lengthy halberds that swiped through the blaze easily, swinging far too close to Altan’s already slashed skin. It wouldn’t be long before the thousands of soldiers crushing in from all sides became too much for a single shaman.

Chaghan could have tried summoning the light, but he had exhausted his power in the final strike against the Empress, and he knew he couldn’t conjure more than a flicker without blacking out from the exertion.

Altan must have been forty meters away across the sprawling throne room, but Chaghan still noticed when he suddenly stilled, abandoning his defense and dropping the staff with a clatter. Altan’s eyes clenched shut in concentration on something very far away, something not of this world, and he started chanting in a rhythmic voice. The air around his body began to ripple, trembling with pure power as the screeching scream of a Phoenix ripped through the room. Altan’s eyes flared open again, the precise shade of the fire that twisted around him in a whipping cyclone, tightening and condensing over his body. The shrieks were building, growing with the snapping heat.

And then Altan saw Chaghan.

The color drained from his face and his crimson eyes went very, very wide with a raw terror. And only then did Chaghan understand what Altan was doing. Only then, did he realize that he'd seen, he'd _felt_ this once before, all the way from the Four Gorges Dam.

Chaghan saw him struggle to recall the power, to pull it back, but Altan was helpless against the screams of the Vermilion Bird.

Chaghan saw the fire explode from Altan’s body, blasting out in all directions, spilling through the entire room.

Chaghan saw the flames racing toward him, faster than he ever could have run.

Chaghan saw the fire surround him with its rushing power; surging, storming, screaming.

And Chaghan saw no more.

# CHAPTER EIGHT

⋟⪼⪻⋞

**The Seer** **dreamt of the coup at** Boyang, his shaking figure curled around his sister’s slumped body, the ice around them stained a glistening cardinal as his twin’s life seeped into the snow.

He dreamt of his sister, _alive_ , racing away from him as she darted through the yurts, shrieking with laughter. Knowing he would never catch her, she spun around, umber hair fanning behind her, glinting eyes catching the watery sunlight, her smile brighter than the hottest flame.

He dreamt of a younger Empress, playing with him on the frigid sands of the Steppe, attempting in vain to teach him the sharp, clicking vowels of Nikara.

He dreamt of deep brown skin, dark fingers curling through his silver hair, and the sickly-sweet taste of smoke when the Speerly’s lips brushed his. Of the clandestine nights when the Speerly kissed him so long that when he pulled away, the Seer couldn’t remember how to breathe without him.

He dreamt of pristine white walls and gleaming metal tables and a small boy huddled in the corner, form racked with sobs as heinous but unmistakably human screams echoed from beyond the vision.

He dreamt of the same child decades later, flashing eyes like twin slits of crimson fire as twisting flames engulfed him. Relentless and unstoppable, the Seer watched helplessly as he razed the world in his vengeance.

He dreamt of two dark figures, silhouettes entwined against the brilliant cosmos and whorls of stars. Alone but for the swirling divinity.

And then he dreamt of nothing at all.

⋟⪼⪻⋞

**The Vermilion Bird was** growing stronger.

The Speerly could feel its acidic rage eating at his conscious, his control. He could feel it every single second, whispering, and when he tried to resist, screaming. Shrieking until he wanted nothing more than to escape its presence through the cool relief of death.

But he couldn’t die.

Not when he now had so much more to live for.

The only thing the Speerly could see was the look on the Seer’s face when he’d emerged from the throne. The sudden, terrified, understanding of the power the Speerly was finally unleashing. Of the power the Speerly finally couldn’t hold back anymore.

The Speerly had fought it, fought it so hard, and still the fire came. It came every time now. It came when he was cornered on the pier. It came when the Empress tried locking him in the Stone Mountain.

Now the fire had come once more.

Now he was helpless against its violent fury.

Now Sinegard was in ashes.

He’d never burned an entire city before. Much less, the capital of an entire Empire. But every time the fire came, it became harder to turn away. Sometimes he grappled the Phoenix for hours, thrashing and screaming, until he seized control of his mind again.

This time, the Speerly wrestled his way back faster. This time, he had something to be fighting for. _Someone_ to be fighting for.

But although he forced the fire from his mind, he could not call it back from what was already done.

Sinegard was gone. Not just charred. Not just scorched. Completely, totally, _gone_.

The once rich, gorgeous landscape of the Nikara Empire’s prized capital was completely colorless, painted entirely in shades of dusty gray and dead black, as if it had been transported into an ancient, inked illustration of the Age of the Red Emperor. It was impossible to tell if it were night or day; the flames had bathed everything to the horizon in a sickly graphite, the exact color of archaic bones. What used to be lush, emerald fields and winding cobbled streets snaking through the grand royal residences were now coated with ashes and charred remains or had become ashes and charred remains. The Warlords' mansions, towering multistory constructions closer to palaces than houses, had been reduced to spindly skeletons of structures, blackened and flaking ash. The Imperial Palace itself had simply vanished, as if it had never been there at all. Gone were the gilded walls and sloping ceilings. Gone were the intricate statues and ornate carvings.

The flames had consumed it all with a horrible vengeance, screaming with a new fury, hotter than anything the Speerly had released before. The devastated terrain was dotted with smoking lakes of swirling stone and metal, where columns and pillars had melted from the unearthly heat.

Not a single hint of life graced the ravaged annihilation, plants and animals all incinerated in seconds when the blaze went up. The corpses of the civilians had all been cremated already. There wasn’t a drop of blood. It had all evaporated.

The fire had devoured all of Sinegard, every last home and classroom and street and palace. Every last peasant and lord and student and soldier. Nothing had been left untouched within at least a ten-mile radius. The flames had taken _everything_.

But they’d scarcely touched _him_.

The Seer was sprawled in a pool of pure, molten gold. His white hair, which had come loose in the skirmish, fanned across the gleaming fluid in an ivory halo, framing his pale face mottled with angry burns. His robes had burned away in the giant fireball, and his milky skin was marbled in twisting patterns, blotched like a leopard’s. Splayed in the golden liquid, he looked like an ethereal demon straight from the heavens, a god himself.

The Speerly’s heart ached at the sight of him.

_Beautiful._

Before the Speerly’s mind caught up to his body, he was kneeling in the lake of gold, the Seer in his arms. He didn’t dare breathe as he dropped his ear to the Seer’s chest, terrified. 

At first, he heard nothing but silence.

And then, just barely perceptible, a faint, sputtering heartbeat.

_Alive._

The Speerly could have sobbed with relief, clutching the frail man to his chest and mumbling a prayer.

The Speerly couldn’t recall much of the next few hours, his memory shrouded in a haze of adrenaline and the laudanum still seeping from his bloodstream. Since his power had finally blossomed, burst from him that night on the pier, the Empress had to keep him ridiculously high just so that he wouldn’t immediately incinerate her entire palace.

Sometime later, gods know how, he had obtained a single horse, one that hadn’t been torched in Sinegard’s annihilation. He didn’t really have a plan, just flee as far and fast as he could from Sinegard’s ashes. There was no one left to give chase, but he knew the total annihilation of an Empire’s capitol wouldn’t stay secret for long, and the man responsible would most certainly be wanted across the country. Taking care to avoid the main roads and major cities like Lusan, he took the Seer and fled to the mountains, riding straight for Mount Tianshan, stopping only to steal food and supplies from trading posts along the range. The Night Castle would have medical provisions and shelter for the Seer, who was growing paler by the day, lost to a deep coma. The Speerly only needed keep him alive until they reached it, and relative safety.

The days of silent travel left the Speerly’s mind to wander free, looping back through the same fears over and over. He held the Seer tight all the while, their last conversation echoing through his head. When the Speerly had gotten abducted by the Federation, _again,_ he had been so afraid that would have been the last time he’d ever see the Seer. He was horrified that the last thing he’d ever said to him was ordering him to leave. And he still couldn’t get the Seer’s last expression before the explosion out of his head, pure, raw terror. Terrified of _him._

The Speerly let tears spring to his scarlet eyes. The worst thing of all was, he knew that he deserved it. The fear. The terror. He deserved it all.

The Speerly was so very lost. Fear was something new to him. And now he was so, so afraid. Afraid that he was turning into the exact monster the Federation had always been to him. Afraid that the Seer had closed his beautiful, luminous eyes for the last time. Afraid of the Vipress. Of the Phoenix. Of the fire. Of himself.

The Phoenix’s screams in his head only intensified with each passing day, and the Speerly didn’t know how much longer he had left. He couldn’t bear the thought of slaughtering his own country, unable to stop even himself, his body obeying only the vicious commands of its god. And he would never be able to live with himself if he ever hurt the Seer, although he wouldn’t have much of a choice. Once the Phoenix stole his conscious entire, he would be forever immortalized. And for all his extreme power and control, when the time came, the Seer would be powerless against him.

But for now, at least, the Speerly would protect the Seer with his life, making sure that no harm came to his comatose soul. Every night, the Speerly curled around him, listening to the Seer’s rattling breaths, making sure that they never ceased. That the heat never left his ashen skin. That his lurching, stuttering heart didn’t give up on his fragile body.

Every night, the Speerly took the Seer’s hand, lacing their fingers and squeezing them tight.

And on the fourth night of holding the Seer close and praying to every god in the Pantheon that he would wake, the Speerly felt a squeeze in return.

# CHAPTER NINE

⋟⪼⪻⋞

**Fire. Fire so bright it** **might** have been born of the heavens themselves.

This fire was all Chaghan could remember. He could not recall a time before he'd suffered its fury. He was starting to believe that there would never be an after. It had become his world entire, ensconced him in its rolling dance, so that he and it were not so much separate beings anymore but one and the same. It consumed him, swathing him in licking flames that cradled his broken body, a curse and savior both. It was the flames that had stolen his consciousness, and now it was the flames that brought him back.

Slowly, the fire wrapping his body was solidifying, forming into strong arms, gentle and warm, holding him close. And all the brilliant, searing fire narrowed, pinpointing to a pair of flaming spots in Chaghan’s vision, beautiful blazing eyes. He felt the whisper of parched lips on his forehead, fiery fingers intertwining with his own.

Chaghan’s throat was charred black, his voice a soft rasp, but he managed to force out a single, sighing word.

_“Altan.”_

_“Chaghan.”_ Altan was shaking with tears of relief. “Chaghan, oh gods. _Oh gods._ ”

“Altan.” Chaghan tried again, but his voice cracked, giving out.

“I’m right here,” Altan whispered into his hair, pulling him closer. “I’m right here, my love. I never left.”

“Are you dead? Are we dead? Where are we?”

“No, Chaghan. It’s okay, we’re alright. You’re safe. We’re going home now.”

Chaghan’s pain-addled mind pulsed sluggishly, struggling to keep up. Home? But they didn’t have a home. Neither of them had for a long, long while. Not after the Empress had—

The _Empress._

“Daji…” He croaked, straining to remember anything beyond the flames.

“She’s never going to hurt you again. You’re safe now.”

“Did I kill her? Is she gone?”

“Don’t worry about that now.” Altan stroked Chaghan’s ivory hair tenderly. “She won’t touch you ever again.”

Chaghan let out a ragged, tortured sigh, and his eyes fluttered shut. He nestled against Altan’s collarbone, tucking his head under Altan’s chin. He suspected he knew the answer to his own question. The Empress could not have died, could not have been killed. Not yet. And perhaps she never would. But Chaghan knew it could never have been him. He really had tried, thrown every last scrap of resentment, sheer resolve, into the last stroke, and still, at the last moment, there had been something holding him back from going all the way. He hadn’t killed her. He might never truly be able to. Instead he had banished her soul to the world of spirit. The ghost of Su Daji, no longer human nor goddess, had dissipated back into the void, back into the darkness. Something very deep within Chaghan told him she would not be seen nor heard from for a very long time. Perhaps forever, not quite alive, but not quite dead. Chaghan convinced himself that he would have known otherwise.

As a Seer, Chaghan possessed a particularly dreadful, albeit useful, gift, the ability to sense the deaths of fellow shamans. Months ago, when Rin returned from Speer after her total annihilation of Mugen, he’s assumed Altan to be with her, since he hadn’t felt the racking blow usually involved with the collapse of a great shaman. When he was proved wrong, Chaghan had partly lost faith in his power. But this would explain it. He _wouldn_ _’t_ have felt it if Altan hadn’t have died, which appeared to be the case. That would also explain why Chaghan hadn’t been able to find his spirit drifting between this life and the next after his supposed demise. Everything made sense now.

“Altan?”

“Yes, my love?”

It was only then that Chaghan realized Altan had never called him that before. Face still hidden from Altan, he allowed himself a secret smile.

“But how are you… not… dead?” Chaghan drew back slightly, looking up at Altan to find the Speerly gazing back at him, a thousand emotions warring across his face. “Where have you been? Did she hurt you?” Chaghan struggled to sit up straighter on Altan’s lap, but his aching muscles failed him.

Altan caught Chaghan before he could topple over again, drawing him against his chest. “That doesn’t matter, Chaghan.” He murmured. “That doesn’t matter anymore.”

Giving up the battle to command his frail body, Chaghan softened in Altan’s arms, melting into his touch. “Then what does?”

Altan pressed his forehead to Chaghan’s. “ _You_. I found _you_. I found you, and I’m never leaving again.” He closed his eyes. Chaghan followed suit, leaning into him. “I’m so sorry, Chaghan. You were right. You were right every time, and I never listened. But I am listening now.” His fingers tightened in Chaghan’s. Altan took a deep, shuddering breath. “I need you more than anything else in this whole damn cosmos. A single hour has yet to pass that I haven’t thought about you. The way you look when you’re annoyed. The way you mutter mysterious nonsense in your sleep. The way you always lecture me about the metaphysical nature of the cosmos like I don't know shit. Every night, every time I just wanted to end it all, you were the one and only thing that kept me going. You kept me sane. And I knew… I knew that I had to get back to you because I love you, Chaghan Suren. I wouldn’t leave you for the gods.”

Chaghan stared up at Altan through his tears, speechless. Neither of them had ever truly admitted all the terrible, wonderful emotions they had felt for years. A silent agreement had always hung over their clandestine relationship, they knew what happened if they fell too far. It was too dangerous, to accept that forbidden love; it could only ever be ripped away, leaving them torn and broken.

_I love you._

Well, Altan had already broken Chaghan, burned his body and shattered his heart, but it had always been the most beautiful pain.

Chaghan opened his mouth to say something, to _tell him_ , but his words were swallowed in a raking sob. He wanted nothing more than to kiss him, to hold Altan close and never let go. He wanted nothing more than to say _I love you_.

Altan said nothing. Instead, his fingers moved in soothing circles on Chaghan’s back as he choked on his sobs, face buried in Altan’s jacket. A long moment passed in silence before Altan shifted, and Chaghan lifted his head to face him, miserably furious with himself.

“Chaghan.”

“Altan.” Despite his best efforts, Chaghan’s voice still wavered.

“Is there something wrong? Something you’d like to tell me?” Altan asked softly, voice smooth and melodic.

Chaghan’s heart stopped for a stuttering second. The air hung so thick with guilt and questions, he suddenly found it hard to breathe. But his clan wasn’t going to threaten him ever again. He was free now. There wasn’t any use in hiding from Altan any longer. “Altan, do you remember the Hexagram I read for you the night Tyr died?”

Something sparked in Altan’s scarlet eyes, and he frowned slightly. “How could I forget?”

“I… may have left something out.”

Altan fell silent.

Chaghan took a shaky breath, shutting his eyes. He didn’t think he could take whatever expression twisted Altan’s face after this.

 _“The brightest sun rises on tomorrow, but it is cracked with an old darkness.”_ Chaghan recited the same eerie words that had haunted his nightmares for years, poisoning every moment he spent with the man he so desperately wished he could love. _“The subject is free with oblivion, blinded by the light that awaits him in the shadows. The final slayer of this flame will leave him extinguished at last. This spells deepest betrayal.”_ He peeked one eye open, afraid of Altan’s reaction.

Altan raised an eyebrow, as if waiting for Chaghan to reveal something more interesting. “So I was going to get assassinated. So what?”

For a moment, Chaghan was completely and totally speechless. _“You knew about the assassin?”_

“I’m the last Speerly. There is _always_ an assassin.”

“Altan.” Chaghan said in a small voice.

“Yes, my love?” The phrase drove the old stake even deeper into Chaghan’s heart.

“Altan, it’s me.” Chaghan squeaked. “ _I_ _’ve_ always been the one who was supposed to kill you.”

Altan blinked. “Obviously.”

It was a full ten seconds before Chaghan remembered how to breathe. He stared at Altan, eyes wide with confusion and shock and a thousand other emotions and _what the hell?!_ He _knew?_

“You’re- you’re just alright with that?!”

“Chaghan, you idiot!” Altan’s face broke into the brightest smile Chaghan had ever seen, and he pulled Chaghan into a bruising kiss. “Gods, Chaghan. That’s why I love you.”

Chaghan was starting to wonder if he was still dreaming. “Because… I’m supposed to kill you…?”

“That’s exactly it! Chaghan, you think I never once saw that raven? You think I never asked Qara why you screamed in your sleep? Yes! _Yes,_ because you were always supposed to kill me!”

“Are you high?” Chaghan demanded.

Altan laughed, and the sound of it warmed Chaghan’s body better than any fire. “You don’t understand.” He took both of Chaghan’s hands in his own, and his expression turned serious. “I meant what I said. I loved you because you fought back. Your own family forced your hand, tortured you into this, and you never gave in. Chaghan, every single night, you screamed and pleaded and suffered in your sleep to keep me safe. You endangered your own life and everything in it just to protect me. You were killing yourself on the inside, every day you beat yourself up, battled your own heart. _For me._ And you thought I would hate you for it?”

Chaghan felt as though his whole life had been turned on its head. All these years. He had _known_. And still Altan loved him.

He didn’t know what to say.

So he didn’t say anything.

Chaghan Suren, heir to the last true Khan of the Hinterlands and final guardian of the universe, ignored the greater forces of the cosmos and whatever consequences he might face, and kissed the man he loved, for the first time, without even a hint of remorse.

⋟⪼⪻⋞ 

**The two greatest shamans** on Earth sat in a comfortable silence for minutes or hours, which, Chaghan wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. There was nowhere he would rather have been.

Now that Chaghan had fully accepted that Altan was alive, and that he wasn’t going to vanish at any moment like he always did in Chaghan’s dreams, he relaxed a little, taking in his surroundings.

Altan had told him that he had been out for four days with a minor concussion from slamming back into the throne when Sinegard went up, but Chaghan wasn’t worried. Shamans like him didn’t just die like that. He’d once been struck by lightning when he was eight, and the worst thing he’d suffered was Qara’s shrieking laughter at his frazzled appearance.

In the time Chaghan had been knocked unconscious, Altan had taken him and fled north as fast as the stolen warhorse would take them, riding along the eastern border of the Wudang Range to the familiar Mount Tianshan, home to the Night Castle. A day’s more ride, and they would arrive at the Cike’s old headquarters, the very same castle that had been built for the Trifecta’s first banquet with the twelve warlords, the coup that had united Nikan for the first time in centuries.

Dusk was just descending over the small clearing Altan had chosen for the night. The glade was bathed mostly in shadow from the surrounding pines, but in that meager light, Chaghan noticed he was clothed in new robes, his old Republic uniform gone. He was grateful too; he’d been wearing the same cobalt armor for five months now.

Chaghan sighed, tipping his head against Altan’s shoulder. He’d nearly forgotten about the Yins and their quest for democracy. It all seemed so long ago now; another life. He was keen to leave it behind, to disappear with Altan into the mountains and never bother with another pointless war again. A part of him still wished he could run to Tianshan and up all the seven thousand steps to the castle, which Chaghan had always found unfair that of all the legends of the ancient mountain, that was the only true one. A part of him still wished he could throw open the doors and find the entire Cike waiting, safe and happy and alive, find joy and light and everything the last year was not. But they had long lost the chance to stay in the light. Chaghan and Altan both had tried, fought endlessly to protect their countries and save their people. But now the time had come to vanish into the darkness, fading from the world’s memory. They had done their part in this world, and Chaghan was ready to step back from the spotlight, let the others steer the future however they wanted. All he wanted now was to stay with Altan, to forget about everything before and start fresh. There was nothing left for either of them but each other, and Chaghan knew he wouldn’t miss his old life. He was going to make a new life for himself, a good one, just him and the last person he loved against the world. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was going to be good.

The soil was slightly damp, and the nipping chill of an early-spring draft wove through the dense pines. Chaghan shivered, despite the screaming burns swathing his skin.

Altan must have noticed. Silently getting to his feet, he collected several smooth stones from around the glade, and forming them into a small ring, lit fire to the enclosed pine needles. Chaghan couldn’t help but notice that Altan flinched a little when he summoned the fire to his fingertips. But before he could mention it, Altan took his hand, drawing him over to the fire.

“Are you alright?”

“Take a wild guess.” Chaghan muttered out of habit, flushing when Altan laughed. But then Altan stilled, and his gaze seemed to catch on the cut slicing across the bridge of Chaghan’s nose, flashing scarlet eyes tracing the new brand.

“What’s this?” Altan tentatively extended a hand as though to touch the slanting mark carving Chaghan’s ivory skin, the raven’s legacy, but he hastily drew back.

“Oh. I forgot about that.” Chaghan raised a shaking hand to the cut, tracing the length of it with a wince. “I- ah… Daji whipped me.” He didn’t really understand why he was still hiding the raven and his mission from Altan. Altan _knew_. He’d _always_ known. But Chaghan was so used to burying his pain, masking it from Altan. Chaghan always walked so freely in other’s thoughts, but he wasn’t used to expressing his own. Qara had never asked. She didn’t need to; she already understood every part of him, almost better than he did himself. “Doesn’t hurt that much,” Chaghan said instead, which was a complete and total lie. It hurt to talk. It hurt to _blink._ “but it might leave a mark.”

Altan grinned, gesturing to his old scar, the one from the Murui all those years ago. “Now we match.”

Chaghan was amazed by how cheerful Altan could be, after all that had gone down in the last year. And ‘cheerful’ had never been a word to describe Altan, even before the war. The Speerly sat cross-legged, and leaning back on his hands, he tipped his head back to study the stars with an expression Chaghan couldn’t quite read. He looked calm, relieved, but there was something else, something hovering just beneath the mask of contentedness. Chaghan wanted to ask, wanted to bring up the war, or maybe the labs, or just, _gods_ , anything. Altan disappeared for a whole year, and then shows up again out of nowhere and expects Chaghan just to leave it at that?

“So.” Chaghan smirked, going with casual instead of demanding. “Now do I get to say, ‘I told you so?’”

Altan blinked, then comprehension dawned on him and he laughed deliriously. “Every day for the rest of my life.”

“That life might not be much longer if you don’t explain everything this second.” Chaghan teased, but he couldn’t keep the grin from his face. He reached over and laced his fingers with Altan’s, holding them tight to remind himself that Altan was here, was _real_ , or else he wouldn’t have believed his eyes. “Where the hell have you been?”

Altan sighed, relaxing. He knew Chaghan was feeling fine if he was swearing. But he still seemed troubled in a way Chaghan couldn’t figure out. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Chaghan scoffed. After the last week, he was just about ready to believe the Hesperians’ Maker was real. “Try me.”

And so he did. Altan recounted the last fourteen months in a detached monotone, as if he’d already long past resigned himself to what had happened to him. Starting with the first explosion that fateful night on the pier, Chaghan grilled him for every last detail, down to the malicious expressions of the Federation doctors as they held him down, and the way that malice morphed into fear when they discovered they could not kill him. When they discovered he could not die.

“So you’re immortal.” Chaghan marveled. “But you haven’t gone insane?” He wasn’t honestly all that surprised. Altan had always been so miraculously stable, and it didn’t come as a shock to Chaghan that he might never lose his impeccable control at all.

“Not as far as I can tell.” Altan shrugged. “The explosion didn’t kill me. It’s the exact opposite. It woke me up. The fire didn’t take my life so much as I was reborn into a new one.”

“Reincarnated.” Chaghan breathed. “But of course.” Altan’s brow furrowed, so he elaborated, pieces fitting into place as fast as he could speak. “The Vermilion Bird. The Phoenix. It makes so much sense. The Phoenix claims the power of rebirth from its own ashes. It’s in all the old legends. I should have seen it before.”

Altan nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds about right.” He proceeded to explain how when he’d summoned the Phoenix that night, he had truly poured his soul into that final blow, giving up the whole of his being to his god for a last chance at saving his people. “He appreciated the effort, but I suppose he wasn’t done with me just yet. And… so I lived. I am far stronger now, too. I can burn for hours and never tire. I think it’s because he trusts me now. He knows that I am loyal and will come to him if I need it. And he gives me everything when I do, doesn’t hold it back anymore. He gave me everything that night. The island was destroyed in an instant. The entire armada too.”

“Then how did you end up back here on the continent?”

“I flew.” Altan said simply.

“You… flew.” Chaghan repeated incredulously, fighting to keep a straight face.

Altan put up his hands defensively. “Don’t ask. I don’t have a clue either. In the moment, I didn’t really care about the how.”

“No shit. Nice.” Chaghan wondered, staring into the flickering fire. “Is that on demand?”

“No, unfortunately. He only does that when I’m frantic, panicking. Same as the… explosions. But those are pretty… bad.”

Chaghan could still feel the shrieking flames on his skin. “You don’t say.”

“Yeah. As soon as the Empress learned about what I could do-”

“Hold on.” Said Chaghan. “When did the Empress get involved?”

Altan’s eyes darkened, sliding out of focus as he contemplated events long past. “Long before we were ever aware.”

_If only you knew._

Chaghan just looked away. “We heard.”

As luck would have it, Su Daji had just happened to be out on the coast that very night, just at the base of the Kukhonin Mountains with a fleet setting sail for Mugen in a reconnaissance mission, when Altan had escaped. And as it turns out, wings of fire are excessively visible in the dead of night. The Empress had caught Altan in a battle on which Altan strongly chose not to elaborate and taken him back to a temporary stronghold high in the peaks of the southern range, which he had proceeded to blow up two months later. Daji hadn’t been scared by his heightened power in the slightest, only excited that she’d found a weapon as deadly as Yin Vaisra had.

At this point, Chaghan cut in, explaining about how by then Vaisra had already captured the Cike and Rin had agreed to serve as the secret weapon in his Dragon Army in return protection from everywhere she was wanted.

Altan offered a tight-lipped smile. “I take it the wars never truly ended.”

Chaghan’s laughter was wry, sharp. “Have they ever?”

He didn’t even have to ask if Altan had surrendered to similar terms. After Daji sold him to the Federation, Altan probably would rather have gone frothing mad than followed her.

“When she learned about this new power, she wanted it for herself.” Altan said. Chaghan fought the urge to roll his eyes. _Shocking._ “She insisted I fight for her. She reminded me of all my ‘wonderfully successful’ years in her service already.”

“And you told her…?”

“And I told her she could go throw herself off Tianshan."

Chaghan canted his head, thinking. “But she still couldn’t kill you, so…”

“She settled for the second-best thing. Just locked me up again.” Something in Altan’s voice was off. He spoke so causally, with such an easy, light tone, but Chaghan saw straight past the frail façade.

“She locked you up… _where_?” He asked slowly. But he already knew.

“Don’t laugh,” Altan warned. Chaghan threw him a look and he sighed. “The Chuluu Korikh.”

Chaghan most certainly wasn’t laughing. “Gods, Altan.”

The pair of them were silent for a beat before something in Altan broke and a lash of pain twisted across his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was a little hoarse. “I mean, it- it wasn’t that bad. It was nothing compared to… before.”

“But still,” Chaghan whispered in horror. “Cut off from your power? From your god?” He shuddered.

“That’s the thing,” Altan said quietly. “I wasn’t.”

Chaghan went very, very still.

“What?” He rasped.

Altan squeezed his eyes shut. “I wasn’t cut off from my god at all. If anything, he was more present than ever before. I couldn’t get away from him. So I-” His voice caught. “I broke out.”

“You _what?!_ Shit. _Shit._ ” Chaghan pressed the heels of his hands to his temples, aghast. "The _Chuluu Korikh-_ oh gods, Altan- did- are you-”

“He was _whispering_.” Altan was staring into the fire. The reflected flames that danced in his eyes tainted them a deeper scarlet than usual.

Chaghan shut up immediately, hanging on to Altan’s every word.

“Always whispering. He told me I had to…” Altan shivered, drawing his knees up to his chest and hunching over with his arms wrapped around his legs. “They say I was only there for ten months, but it felt like eternity. And he was always there with me, he wouldn’t leave me. And he only grew stronger as time went on, shrieking at me, screaming. He wanted me to… He wanted so many terrible things. And every day, his screams grew louder and louder and the heat got sharper and he was burning, _I_ was burning. And the fire built up inside and I couldn’t stop it, I couldn’t pull it back, it just kept swelling and screaming and I thought surely I would die, I wanted to die, but I _couldn_ _’t_ … and then the fire… everything just _erupted_ … all the fire and heat and light…”

Chaghan’s skin paled whiter than marble. “Shit. Altan. Do you know what this means?” Altan was the first and only shaman ever to escape the Stone Mountain. There were _demigods_ immured that mountain. And if the legends were anything true, there had been real _gods_ imprisoned there since the beginning of time itself. And Altan Trengsin the _human,_ the _mortal,_ had been the first to burst it.

Altan was trembling. “It means that no one can stop me— _him_ —anymore. Not the Stone Mountain. Not you. Not even _me_. I am going to do such horrible things. I _have_ done horrible things. And I can’t- I can’t _stop._ ” Altan had never looked so lost. His unimaginable control was finally slipping and there was nothing left to hold back the flood. Or, well, the fire.

Chaghan shifted to put an arm around him. “Altan…”

“Chaghan, what do I do?” Altan whispered, eyes distant. “I don’t want this. I don’t want it anymore. He says I need him, his aid, his love, he gives it, he sends the fire when I’m desperate. And I _don_ _’t want it_ \- at Sinegard-” His face crumpled at ‘Sinegard’ and Altan buried his face to hide his tears from Chaghan. “I mean, I _did_ , I wanted it the first time, I wanted to save Rin; to avenge the Speerlies. I sacrificed my entire being to the flame, I promised him that if he took me then, I would never resist again, and I haven’t, because I _can_ _’t_. Now it just erupts whenever I… and I can’t do anything to stop it. And every time he does it, every time, I think that I might die, that he might finally let me go. But he doesn’t. He won’t. He just uses me, drains my body until I’m teetering on the edge, and then he pulls me back.” Altan’s body spasmed slightly, whether from his own fear or the Phoenix vying for control, Chaghan didn’t know. “It takes months to recover from the blasts. I can’t call the flame for weeks afterword. I can’t even _move_ for a long while.”

Chaghan frowned. Now it made sense why Daji had kept Altan at Sinegard with confidence for her capitol’s survival, torturing him fearlessly. It had only been two months since he’d blown the Chuluu Korikh, she must have thought him too uselessly exhausted to fight back. “And the Phoenix doesn’t mind that you’re left so helpless for that long?”

“It’s not like anyone could kill me anyway.” Altan said bitterly. “He doesn’t care that he bleeds me dry as long as his legacy is safe. Physical incapacitation is all the same to him. Just more time to whisper to me, to draw me to his side. To convince me the fire is good. That he isn’t a monster. That _I’m_ not a monster if I listen to him. The monster that massacred the whole of Nikan.”

“You’re not a monster, Altan.” Chaghan said softly. But he couldn’t help the images that flashed through his mind. Altan, pressing his flaming fingers to the Federation prisoner’s eyes. Altan, barging through the Federation blockade at Khurdalain, corpses strewn in his wake. Altan, screaming as jets of fire exploded from his chest and billowed out to consume anything and everything around him.

Altan glared at him, eyes rimmed with red. “Try asking some Sinegardians about that. Because you won’t be getting any sympathy from a million charred corpses.”

“Altan, you couldn’t have done anything to stop him, that wasn’t you.”

“No, don’t you see?” Altan hissed. “This _is_ what I am. This is what I have become. And now he’s raged once more and look what comes of it. An entire people. Dead in one night. A whole city, the _capitol_. Burned to the ground. Sound familiar?”

Chaghan swallowed hard. Of course it did. Of course Altan despised himself. He was turning into the very thing he’d always feared. He was now the one inflicting the tortures of his own childhood on the innocents of Nikan. Altan, perfect, almighty, untouchable Altan, was finally losing control.

“Altan, you know it’s not you, you can’t blame yourself for this-”

“But what does it matter who is blamed?” Altan snapped. “I killed them all. _I killed them._ ” He glared at the fire in the ring for a second before his face twisted into a sob.

Chaghan was silent, wrapping his arms around the shaking Speerly. He could do nothing. Once a shaman gave up everything to their god the final time, there was no going back. Everyone had believed that Altan had died that night on the pier, and perhaps, in sense, they were right. He had not survived as the same person he had been before, but rather a rare form of demigod, some unstoppable sort of half-man, half-flame. And every time he erupted, he lost a little more of himself to the fire. Chaghan could do nothing, for there was nothing to be done. This was the way it went. Shamans were sentenced to inescapable insanity the moment they reached the Pantheon, and as a Speerly, Altan was long since doomed. He would battle the gods until finally, for the first time in his life, Altan Trengsin lost.

_Unless…_

Unless!

“Altan!” Chaghan exclaimed, shaking him hard. “Let me anchor you!”

Sighing heavily, Altan dragged his hands over his face. “Chaghan, we’ve been over this, it’s far too dangerous. You saw firsthand what happened with the Trifecta-”

“No! Altan! It wouldn’t have to be trilateral at all! Just you and me.” Chaghan was beaming for probably the first time in his entire life. If he could stabilize Altan… If he could keep him sane…

Altan shook his head. “You can’t give up your bond now. It’s too strong. You’d both probably die from separation.”

Chaghan had never known smiling could hurt this much. “No, it’ll be fine! I’ll be fine. More than fine, this is amazing! Altan, why not? I could save you.”

Altan gave him a funny look, which Chaghan supposed he deserved. He hadn’t been this excited about anything since the day his mother had deemed him finally ready to become a Seer, worthy of her spiritual training at last.

“You still need Qara’s consent.”

The smile slid from Chaghan’s face and he drew back, turning away so that his face was cloaked in shadow. The glade was silent for a long, heavy moment, before Chaghan felt warm arms snaking around his waist, pulling him closer.

“I didn’t know,” Altan murmured. “I’m so sorry, Chaghan.”

Chaghan nodded, silent tears slipping down his marbled cheeks. He twisted around to throw his arms around Altan, shaking with sobs. He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, wrapped around each other with no intention of ever letting go, lost to their own reticent misery.

Altan was alive! But he was practically insane already. But he could bond to Chaghan! But _Qara_ _…_

“We’ll settle this in the morning.” Altan said finally, deciding they were both too emotionally spent to achieve much of anything in this state. “I’ll catch a sacrifice and you can gather the agaric. But for now, you should sleep.”

“I slept for four days.” Chaghan raised an eyebrow. “If anyone needs sleep, it’s you. You look like an overworked, demented… zombie thing.” He grinned, forcibly trying to lighten the mood. “But then, you’ve kind of always looked like an overworked demented zombie thing.”

“Shut up, lieutenant.” Altan said affectionately, kissing him lightly on the forehead.

“Anything for you, commander.” Chaghan mocked, brushing his nose against Altan’s in a tender nuzzle. “In the morning then, Speerly trash.”

“Hmm. I love you too.” Altan smirked. “Night, Hinterlander devil.”

Chaghan tackled him to the forest floor.

⋟⪼⪻⋞

**That night, when they** finally settled down, curled together in each other’s arms, Chaghan glanced up at the deep indigo sky splattered with sweeping swaths of winking stars, and wondered if for once, maybe, just _maybe_ , the gods knew what they were doing.

# CHAPTER TEN

⋟⪼⪻⋞

**It was the distinct scent** of burning pine that rose Chaghan again. He jolted awake, stumbling to his feet in fear that they had been caught. The Empire had found them, and now they would finish the shamans once and for all. But a quick scan of the surrounding forest proved otherwise. No Militia soldiers circled the camp. There wasn’t an arrow in sight. Just a small fire crackling in the carefully constructed ring. The smoke drifted lazily toward a pale twilight sky. It couldn’t have been much earlier than sunrise, but a fire still seemed like a terrible idea in the low light. It made for a painfully obvious tracker, a warning beacon screaming _HERE ARE THE TWO MOST WANTED PEOPLE IN THE EMPIRE JUST IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING._

Chaghan glanced through the dark trees, searching for a familiar Speerly, and panicked for a moment when he was nowhere to be found. It only lasted a second before his gaze caught on a dark figure leaning in the shadow of a massive pine several yards away, arms crossed.

“Altan?” The shadow was silent. Chaghan tried to get a better look at his face, but Altan was turned away from him, facing the dancing flame. “Altan? That fire’s… a really bad idea you know.” Chaghan took a step forward but paused when the silhouette didn’t move.

After a minute devoid of sound but for the rustling pines, Chaghan grew suspicious. “Altan, are you asleep?” There came no response, but something told Chaghan that wasn’t the case. “Altan…?” This wasn’t right.

Silently, Chaghan knelt to the soil and slipped the small dagger Altan had given him the night before inside his sleeve, never taking his eyes off the lurking figure. After a moment’s hesitation, he grasped the hilt of a long hunting knife as well. He wasn’t even entirely sure why. It was just Altan. Altan would never hurt him.

So why did the fire spark higher when Chaghan took another step closer?

“Altan.” Still no response, or even acknowledgment of Chaghan’s presence. “Altan, it’s me. It’s me, Chaghan.”

The name had an effect on the Speerly, and his eyes snapped to Chaghan’s.

Chaghan drew a sharp breath.

They burned brightest scarlet. _Too_ bright.

_NO._

Not _Altan._

_This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. He can’t be—it’s too early._

But it wasn’t too early at all. Altan had lasted longer than most, considering his circumstances. Speerlies seldom made it past thirty, and Altan had been losing his grip for years. Chaghan felt like his heart had been torn from his chest. He just had to cling to the possibility that it wasn’t too late to bring him back, even if it was far from the horrible truth.

Chaghan didn’t know what to do. So, he just kept moving. One shaking step after another, he crept closer still, keeping the blades out of sight. His gaze flicked to a sizable overhanging branch, protruding from the tree directly over Altan’s head. If he could bring that down…

Altan watched him advance without a hint of recognition, motionless but for his wild crimson eyes tracking Chaghan’s every move.

Chaghan knew this was a pointless battle, it was useless to even try. If Altan really had turned, he would be forever indestructible. Immortalized, his human body would be forever preserved as a conduit for the Vermilion Bird. Encased in that state of ecstasy, Chaghan wouldn’t even be able to incapacitate him to bring him to the Chuluu Korikh. Which wouldn’t matter anyway, he remembered, because even the Chuluu Korikh couldn’t hold him. Altan was the strongest force on this Earth, stronger even than Chaghan, because he had no restraint. He had no conscious, no control. He would stop at nothing short of setting fire to the heavens themselves.

Long story short, Chaghan only had one shot at this, and he couldn’t afford to fail if he wanted Nikara to survive Altan’s vengeance.

Movements slow and tentative, Chaghan reached out a hand, as if approaching a savage animal. Perhaps he was.

“Altan.”

The name set something off in the Speerly, and he dropped back several paces, sinking into a low crouch. His eyes flashed a shade of vermilion brighter than poppy petals. In the flickering light of the meager fire, Chaghan saw Altan’s hand close around the metal staff he’d acquired at Sinegard. Chaghan hadn’t noticed it lying among the pine needles and cursed himself a degree further. Reminding himself exactly what he was going for seemed insane. And Altan actually _was._ So, Chaghan, the hopelessly weak human, was trying to defeat the most powerful god in the cosmos who also happened to be the greatest martial artist in the Empire, maybe even the world, with a foot-long knife. Chaghan silently congratulated himself on his planning skills. He should have known. He should have seen this.

“Altan is dead.” 

The sound of his voice broke Chaghan’s heart. It didn’t sound like his Altan at all. This voice was sharp and unearthly. The voice of the Phoenix. The voice of a god.

He really was too far gone. The explosion at Sinegard must have been the final stroke, the breaking point. Altan had always just bordered on sane, for as long as Chaghan had known him, and now he had finally let the god in, no restrictions. And he would never leave again. Altan had survived the wrath of his implacable god for longer than his kin ever had, but a god like the Phoenix always caught up to them, and even he couldn’t resist the call of the divine power.

Chaghan had always insisted that he could be saved. He’d thought Altan was different, stronger. And now he would pay for that fantasy. Altan would not show the mercy Chaghan had given him.

Qara was right. They all were.

Altan should have been killed a long time ago.

And it had always needed to be _him_.

But now Altan was immortal, no one could kill him anymore, no matter how powerful they were. Essentially, Earth was doomed. And it was all Chaghan’s fault. He’d been so blind, so childish. Altan had been a disaster waiting to happen from the very beginning, in more ways than just one.

But that didn’t mean Chaghan had ever loved him any less.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Altan growled, voicing Chaghan’s thoughts exactly.

Chaghan squeezed his eyes shut. _No._ He would never be truly able to let Altan go. But he couldn’t find another way out of the grave he’d dug for himself.

He let the dagger slip into his palm, gripping the handle with trembling fingers as he opened his eyes again, glancing at the branch he’d noted earlier. He took a shaky breath as his gaze dragged back to his commander.

“This is the last thing I want to do, Altan.” Chaghan whispered softly, and he flicked out his wrist, hurling the small blade at Altan’s neck.

Knife throwing was one of the rare physical attack methods Chaghan was actually good at, but he was far better with his left arm, which was currently broken. His aim was mediocre at best, and the dagger sunk deep into Altan’s shoulder instead.

Altan winced and yanked it out, casting it aside in a second.

But a second was all Chaghan had needed. With Altan momentarily distracted, he lobbed the hunting knife at the branch, praying as it flipped through the air, before catching the limb at the perfect angle. It stuck for a moment before a splintering noise filled the forest and the branch came crashing down at Chaghan’s feet.

He blinked, shocked. It had been a wild shot in the dark. Chaghan hadn’t expected that to _work._

Altan looked startled too, but after a second’s pause, he leered. “Cute trick.”

Before Chaghan had time to react, Altan lunged at him, closing the distance in seconds. Chaghan had barely snatched up the fallen branch when Altan brought his staff down, knocking it back out of Chaghan’s grasp with one end, and slamming the other into his chest. Chaghan hit the underbrush with a yelp, grabbing the branch and bringing it up over his head to block the rod a millisecond before Altan’s staff would have crushed his skull. He just needed to get back on his feet, or this would be over before it had begun.

Twisting out of the staff’s path and skittering back across the dried pine needles, Chaghan groped blindly for the hunting knife, gasping when his hand closed around the blade, slicing his palm open. _Nice job._ He ignored the keening pain, bloodied fingers finding the rough grain of the handle while clumsily fending off Altan’s worst strikes. But his broken wrist and the measly branch weren't enough to maintain a shield for long.

Altan locked his staff with the limb and twirled it in an arcing twist that pinned the branch to the ground. Chaghan surrendered the weapon at once, giving up on the branch and letting go to duck under Altan’s left arm. Altan twisted around, staff raised, but he was too slow. Chaghan had already darted back up, raking the knife down Altan’s back with both hands.

Altan’s scream ripped through Chaghan’s chest as though he’d been the one slashed. _It’s not him, get a grip. Your mercy means your death. Your mercy means this entire country’s death._ Chaghan choked on a spilling sob but drove the blade deeper still. _It’s not him. He would want this. He would want you to save Nikan._

The gleaming staff suddenly whipped out of nowhere, whacking Chaghan’s side so that he lost his balance, crumpling. The knife fell to the soil beside him, and before Chaghan could grasp it again, Altan kicked the blade far from his reach. Chaghan scrambled to his feet only to lurch back when the staff swung for his head, tripping over the abandoned branch. He snatched the limb again and Altan’s staff clashed with the flaking bark instead of Chaghan’s nose.

And now he was right back where he had started.

Chaghan knew it was ridiculously idiotic to be even _trying_ to fight _Altan Trengsin_ , but he was too occupied with blocking every blow to plan much farther ahead. Frantically scouring ing the surrounding woods for anything he could use to his advantage, Chaghan’s focus slipped for a moment too long. Altan’s staff collided with his branch just so, causing it to split along the entire length of the limb. _Aaaannd now you’re weaponless. Wonderful._

The iron rod came down again, merciless, and Chaghan dropped, rolling out of the way just in time, coming up in a crouch, only to be knocked back again when Altan smashed the butt of his staff into Chaghan’s forehead. The sharp metal slipped and tore across the side of Chaghan’s scalp, re-opening the old scar from the river years ago. His scream echoed through the trees and his head thudded against the needled ground again.

Altan collapsed with him, dropping over Chaghan as he fell and straddling his thin form. He pinned Chaghan’s arms with his knees and leveled the staff flat over his chest.

“I am going to give you a moment to think this through. Do you truly believe this is a good idea?” Altan asked calmly, sliding the staff up to Chaghan’s throat. “You think you could ever beat me? I am a god now, Suren. And you have become nothing but a miserable, broken child. A shell of a shaman. Without _her._ ” He increased the pressure on the staff and Chaghan gasped, fighting for air. Splotches of black plagued his vision, blooming larger by the second, but he could still see the murderous look in Altan’s scarlet eyes. “Did you really think it wise to attack one of the most powerful beings in this cosmos?” Altan shifted, putting more weight on the staff pressed across Chaghan’s neck.

And less on his arms.

“You think you can defeat a god?” He murmured, breath ghosting over Chaghan’s skin.

“It wouldn’t be the first time this week.” Chaghan rasped, voice slightly hoarse from the metal pinning his throat.

Jerking his arms free, Chaghan grasped Altan’s neck, slamming Altan’s skull against his own. Hard. It wasn’t enough to do any real damage, just enough to momentarily subdue the opponent. Altan had taught him that. Chaghan threw him off and seized the staff with little resistance. He spun the rod out of Altan’s hands and curved it through the air to come down on Altan’s right shoulder, whacking the dagger wound perfectly.

Altan cried out, and Chaghan took the opportunity to swing the staff in a low arc, connecting with Altan’s knees and sweeping his legs out from under him. He hit the ground hard and Chaghan was on him half a second later, staff poised over his rib cage threateningly, aiming straight for his heart. “Don’t you dare move, Speerly.”

But Altan didn’t seem even remotely shaken. He looked _amused._ Unfazed, his fingers circled the staff and he slowly pushed it away from his chest. Chaghan fought to keep it still but Altan was at least five times stronger than him, and he flicked the rod aside like a matchstick.

“Nice try.” He smirked. “I do so appreciate the effort.”

Then he burst into flame.

Chaghan shrieked and scrambled back, out of the fire’s reach. _You idiot. Of course, that was impossible._ He would never have truly beat Altan Trengsin. _No one_ had ever truly beat Altan Trengsin. The Speerly had been playing with him, letting him win with every strike. If Altan had been trying in the slightest, Chaghan would be long dead by now.

Chaghan _should have_ been long dead by now.

So then why was he still breathing?

Altan rose with a cool grace, as if nothing had happened at all, flames dancing over his shoulders and down his arms in curling flickers. Chaghan’s first instinct was to warn him against forest fire, and his second was to bolt, to get as far away from this rabid wolf as possible. He did neither.

Chaghan stood firm as Altan advanced, glaring at the Speerly with more fire than Altan had ever summoned. If the Phoenix was going to draw this out, then fine. Two could play at that game. When Altan stopped directly before him, much closer than Chaghan would have liked, it took everything in him not to flinch away, but Chaghan clenched his fists and held his ground, looking Altan straight in the eye. Or… he _tried_ to look Altan straight in the eye. Even when Chaghan drew himself up to his full height, Altan still had half an infuriating foot on him. They stood like that for several stretching moments, Seer and Speerly locked in a silent battle of wills.

Chaghan should have run. He should have fled while he still could.

But that was just it. The fact that he still could was what stopped him.

And so he stayed. He put his life in the hands of a god, and he could only pray that his trust was enough.

The Phoenix seemed confused by this.

“You aren’t going to kill me?”

Chaghan crossed his arms. “This isn’t you.”

Altan didn’t so much as blink. “This is the only thing I am, Chaghan.”

Chaghan seriously doubted that. If the Phoenix had taken his conscious entirely, Altan would never have kept Chaghan alive so long, toying with him instead of cutting straight to the fire. If the Phoenix had truly won, Altan would have murdered Chaghan in his sleep.

Chaghan tipped his chin with a defiant air. “Then why am I alive?”

Altan arched a brow. “Elaborate.”

“Why am I _still_ alive?”

Altan scoffed humorlessly. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“Bullshit Altan. You know exactly what I mean.”

“Chaghan-”

“You’re fighting it. I can tell. You have to keep fighting him.”

Altan’s eyes darkened. “I _am_ him.”

“ _Altan._ ” Chaghan clenched the front of Altan’s jacket in his fists, pulling him closer. “Altan. You have to come back. I know you’re still there. It’s not too late. It’s you. It’s still you.” He swallowed his tears, fighting them back. “I can feel it. Don’t let him take you this time. You can come back from this.”

“No one can save Altan anymore. Chaghan, not even you-”

“No, you listen to me, Altan. Listen to me for _goddamn once-_ ”

“I don’t care what you say, you can’t bring him back.” Altan snarled.

“You can’t let this rage become you Altan-”

“Altan is _dead!”_

Then all Chaghan could see was the fire.

Altan exploded, flames leaping high into the star-speckled sky. Twisting ribbons of fire shot from his chest, spinning to curl around Chaghan, coiling over his body like scorching serpents tearing at his flesh. The flames of the fire from the pit now surged several meters high. The crackling of the burning pines almost drowned out Chaghan’s screams.

The rivulets of fire encircling his frame spun closer, charring his burns from Sinegard even further, and Chaghan staggered back, crumpling to the forest floor. He lost sight of Altan as a wall of fire flew up around him, blocking all escape. The screen of fire inched nearer, drawing in on all sides, some of the larger flames jumping out to lick Chaghan’s skin. Chaghan had been trained to lie through pain, but this was different. This hurt in a way Chaghan had never known. Altan had burned him dozens of times, but this ached worse than anything else. It wasn’t so much the physical suffering as the agonizing grief. Altan would never have tortured him like this. Perhaps he truly was lost to the Phoenix. Perhaps he truly was too far gone to save.

Seconds before Chaghan would have blacked out from the heat, the curtain of fire surrounding him parted, giving way to a dark silhouette framed against the first rays of dawn cresting the tree-line. The flames receded several inches, dropping back just enough to be bearable, but not nearly enough for comfort.

“Are you done messing around yet, little Seer?” Altan spat. No. It wasn’t Altan. This was the Phoenix in a man. The Vermilion bird was the one speaking here. The one controlling every movement, every spark and flame. Altan was merely the slave in the hands of an unforgiving puppeteer.

Gasping, Chaghan hauled himself up to his knees, slumping forward on his hands. The burns now covering his entire body hurt almost more than the actual fire itself, and Chaghan knew they were lethal if given a few days. _All you have to do is bring him back. Then you can die. You just have to finish this so that he won’t be able to._ _After that, you can leave this world for good._

Chaghan had never truly expected to live long in the material world. It wasn’t where he belonged. But he couldn’t die quite yet.

Not until he’d finished what he was born to do.

“At least I’m not the one messing with his mind.”

“How dare you challenge who I choose to be, Naimad.” Altan seethed.

“How dare you choose to become who this monster will make you, Speerly.” Chaghan hissed back.

“I have become a _god,_ not a monster.”

“Perhaps not yet.” Chaghan whispered.

Altan roared in indignation, and the flames weaving around Chaghan’s body tightened like blazing chains, singeing his flesh. He tried to shoulder the pain, tried to stand strong against the Phoenix’s will, but the heat was too intense. A scream tore itself from his throat as the flames poured over his skin in waves. He screamed until his voice gave out, one more thing lost to the fire. It felt as though the flames were consuming him whole, spilling down his throat and flooding his lungs. The seconds seemed to stretch and unfold, spanning hours instead of moments. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

Was this how they had felt?

All the thousands Altan had killed over the years. The targets. The Federation. The Sinegardians. Had they too felt as though they themselves consisted purely of this fire? Had every one of them heard the shrieking laughter of a victorious god as their bodies were decreased to smoking ash? And how many more would follow them if Chaghan failed?

And what if he didn’t _want_ to succeed?

 _Look at him. He’s pathetic. He’s protecting them even now._ Bekter’s voice rang clear in his head. It was joined by the voice of his aunt, his leader, the Sorqan Sira, when she’d drawn him aside later that night. _You are not blind, not ignorant as she was, Chaghan. You have seen it. You know where this path leads. But you will die like your mother. At the hands of your own cause._

The fire felt even hotter on Chaghan’s skin, burned even brighter before his eyes.

Then, just as suddenly as they had stormed him, the flames retreated.

And Chaghan was, impossibly, miraculously, _alive._

He drew a shaking breath, chest heaving, and turned up his gaze to find the Speerly staring back at him, frozen. And then Chaghan was confused all over again. It was becoming a constant.

Altan looked _terrified_. His gaze jumped from the lingering flame in his open palm to Chaghan kneeling before him, hair blackened and skin charred. Altan’s eyes were a deep, beautiful brown.

And Chaghan understood. This was not the raging god. This was not the rabid warrior. This was _Altan_. Truly, honestly Altan. This was Altan like Chaghan had never seen him before, because he was completely untainted by the Phoenix. Altan had always been so close to his god, never straying more than an arm’s length from his fire. His endless hatred had fueled his vengeful god so perfectly that the Phoenix was always with him, never left him for a single blazing moment. And now, for the first time, Altan disagreed with his fiery will; now he was fighting back. For the first time since Chaghan had met him, for the first time since his childhood, Altan was pure.

“Chaghan?” He asked in a small voice. _His_ voice.

“ _Altan_.” Chaghan almost sobbed with relief. “I knew I could find you.”

“Chaghan, are you-” His voice broke. “Did I…?”

“Altan, _no._ That wasn’t you.” Chaghan struggled to his feet, trying desperately not to cry out, for Altan’s sake. “Altan, I’m fine. I’m alright. Now that you’re back.”

“No.” Altan gave a minuscule shake of his head, backing away. “No. Chaghan. You have to run. You have to run away _right now_.”

Chaghan took a step closer, tentatively reaching out a hand. “Altan-”

Altan scrambled back in an effort to put more space between them. “ _No._ I can’t- I can’t get it out-”

“Altan, you just _did._ He’s gone. It’s okay.”

“I can’t- Chaghan, it’s in my head. It’s in my head, this time it’s not going away.” Altan gasped, clutching his skull. “Chaghan- get away from me- I can’t-” He cut off in a scream and crumpled to the ground, convulsing once before going deathly still.

“Altan!” Chaghan rushed to his side, dropping before his commander and pressing his fingers to Altan’s neck, searching for a pulse. The moment Chaghan touched him, Altan’s eyes flew open, revealing bright crimson irises.

“ _No_.” Chaghan breathed.

But the fire had already returned.

One second, Chaghan had been praying over Altan’s lifeless form, the next the Speerly was towering over him, bathed in flame as he sent tendrils of pure fire hurdling for Chaghan’s heart.

The concentrated jets knocked the air from his chest, but as soon as he could breathe again, Chaghan was fighting, despite the rolling fire lancing through his body.

“Altan, you’re _so close_.” He pleaded, voice raw. “Come back.”

Altan’s eyes flickered a dark ochre for a tenth of a second, so fast he might have imagined it, but Chaghan continued, relentless.

“Don’t pretend you can’t hear me, Altan-”

“Oh, he can hear you.” Altan sneered. “But he cannot save you anymore. No one can.” The flames increased twofold, cementing his point.

“Altan, stop,” Chaghan begged, coughing up blood. “You’re _killing me_.”

“Yes, I am very aware of that.” Altan clenched a fist, and the fire doubled in size, engulfing Chaghan entirely. “Consider this: It’s intentional.”

“Altan, just _listen_.” Chaghan choked out. “ _Fight him._ You can’t give in like this. Please, _Altan._ ”

“ _Stop calling me that_.” Altan snapped. “I am not your Altan. Your Altan is gone. He died that night on the pier when he gave himself up to me, when he gave himself up to his power. Your Altan is gone, and he’s never coming back, no matter what stupid Naimad magic tricks you try.”

“Oh, you mean like this?” Chaghan asked innocently, and he dove into Altan’s mind. The Phoenix screeched, bursting in a giant plume of flame, but Chaghan ignored him. He wasn’t there to deal with the god.

Chaghan hunted frantically for a hint of sense, a single shard of conscious amid the endless drive for power. The Phoenix had done his job well, consuming every rouge opinion, every idea that might threaten his power over the Speerly. But Chaghan knew Altan was still there. He _had_ to be there. Gods could possess the body of a shaman, but never quite swallow their mind completely. Even if Altan was reduced to a helpless semblance of himself, powerless against the Phoenix’s command, he was still forced to experience every last terrible act of vengeance.

He began to panic when all Chaghan could find was the fire. It lurked in every corner of Altan’s mind, corrupting his every thought with the taunting promise of its power. It snaked through his memories, charring his recollection of events and people so horribly, they were unrecognizable. Friends and enemies blended together, faces burning away until they weren’t human any longer, simply nameless targets to be obliterated. Chaghan broke down at the sight of Altan so twisted and tortured, so far from the soul he used to be.

Chaghan was just about to give up hope, accepting the shattering truth that Altan might truly be gone, when a weak flash of rebellion glimmered in the corner of his awareness. A small fragment of the true Speerly, caged beneath all the fire and fury, the last stand against his furious god. It was a shadow of Altan’s free will, his pure mind uncontaminated by the Phoenix’s rage. A fading aura trapped as a slave and a zombie to the Vermilion Bird. But there all the same.

 ** _Altan,_** Chaghan called, reaching out across the spiritual plane in an attempt to draw him out.

Silence.

_**ALTAN.** _

If Altan could even hear him at all, he didn’t respond. Chaghan’s heart sank. This was the last chance. For them both. If he couldn’t bring Altan back now, it was over. If he couldn’t bring Altan back now-

Chaghan’s desperation was severed by a blinding flash of fire.

And Altan answered.

Chaghan was thrown from his mind and found himself once again kneeling on the damp soil of the forest floor.

Standing before him, umber eyes wide, was Altan, truly, genuinely Altan, flames still dancing over his shoulders.

“ _Chaghan._ ” He whispered hoarsely, and the fire disappeared all at once, both the burning trees and the flames binding Chaghan hissed out instantly, blown out by an invisible force.

Altan collapsed into Chaghan’s arms, shaking.

“ _Chaghan._ Chaghan, oh gods.” He sounded like a frightened child waking up from a bad dream.

“It’s okay, it’s alright. I’m right here.” Chaghan took his hand, lacing their blood-slicked fingers. “Altan, you’re okay.”

“No- no I’m- Chaghan- _shit,_ it’s in my head…” Altan shrunk back, recoiling at the sight of the mottled burns tinging Chaghan’s milky skin. “Did I…” His voice wavered. “Did I do that to you?”

“Oh Altan, of course not. You… weren’t yourself.” _Very literally._ “That was _him,_ you couldn’t have done anything.” Chaghan murmured, wrapping his arms around the trembling Speerly and pulling him close, careful to avoid the slashing wound across his back. “It wasn’t you. That demon _isn’t you_ , Altan. You need to see past him. Live past the fire. That vengeance doesn’t get to rule you.”

“But I can’t get him out. I can’t get it out anymore.” Altan melted into Chaghan’s embrace, tears strangling his voice. “Chaghan. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

“ _You_ never would have.” Chaghan kissed him softly. “You would never hurt me.”

He was met with a worrying silence.

“Altan?” Chaghan asked slowly. “You would never hurt me, right?”

The Speerly’s eyes shone with tears. “No, Chaghan,” Altan whispered, lips brushing Chaghan’s forehead. “No, you’re right. I’m never going to hurt you again.”

“Altan, I-”

“Because you’re going to kill me.”

Chaghan lurched back. “ _What?!”_

Altan’s face twisted into something like determination. “It’s the only way, and you know it.”

“Altan, _no!_ You’re _back!_ Why would I-”

“You need to kill me now, Chaghan, before it’s too late. I would do it myself, but he stops me every time. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“But you-”

Altan kissed him, hard, to shut him up. “You have to do it _now_ , before he takes me again.” He insisted. “Every day, every _hour,_ I can feel him, I can feel him getting stronger. I won’t be able to come back anymore. I wouldn’t have, if not for you. But I’m here now, as long as he’s gone, I’m mortal. You have to do it now.”

“ _Altan…_ I can’t-”

“ _Tær ruhya.”_ Altan begged, and Chaghan recognized the rough tone of the dead language, the ancient Speerly tongue. _My love._ Altan’s fingers tightened around his. “If you won’t do it for this earth, do it for me.”

Shaking with silent tears, Chaghan nodded.

“And then Chaghan?” Altan’s dark fingers found Chaghan’s chin and tilted his face up to meet his gaze. “You can’t just die. You can’t follow me this time. You have to keep on living. This world won’t survive without you. You can’t kill yourself.”

 _Damn._ That was precisely what Chaghan had been planning to do.

Altan must have caught the spark in Chaghan’s expression, and he smiled sorrowfully, drawing Chaghan into a strong embrace. “Hey. _Hey_. It’s okay.” He held Chaghan tighter to stop the trembling. What had been Altan’s breakdown was quickly becoming Chaghan's.

“You’ll be fine,” Altan whispered in his ear. “Go save the world, forget about me.”

“No. _No_ , Altan.” Chaghan curled against his chest, fighting to speak through his tears. “I won’t ever forget you.”

And Chaghan knew it was true. He had always been a pure follower, never daring to question a single order he received. Altan, not so much. He burned everything and everyone he touched with his searing passion, and when he stormed into Chaghan’s life, setting fire to his old soul, the Seer emerged from the flames a different person entirely. The Speerly had ruined his life, and Chaghan was better for it.

Altan was the forge, and Chaghan the sword. And every time Chaghan touched him, he morphed into someone new. Someone better.

Chaghan drank in the sensation of Altan’s arms around him, trying to memorize how this moment felt. A pure second when he wasn’t greiving the past or looking into the future. Just him and Altan under the sky on fire as the brilliant sunrise ripped over the horizon.

“I wouldn’t forget you for the cosmos.” Chaghan murmured again, resting his chin on Altan’s shoulder.

Altan tensed against him.

“This cosmos might not last much longer if you can’t forget him.”

Chaghan froze. Altan’s voice held the double echo of the Phoenix speaking through him.

“Altan. No.”

“Okay. I admit. I was wrong.” Altan smirked, throwing Chaghan to the ground as the fire swept back around him, bathing him in a heavenly glare. His eyes flashed with a brighter fire than ever before. “ _Now_ he’s gone.”

And Chaghan didn’t understand how he knew, but this time he was certain. Altan wasn’t coming back. But he still wouldn’t process that Altan, beautiful, brilliant, Altan, could crumble to this monster.

“ _No._ ” He whispered, but it was undeniable. The Altan that stood before him now was not his Altan. This was the demon consumed by the flames that had eaten at his edges for years. This was the god that Chaghan had always fought to drive out of him. This was who the Ketreyids had always feared Altan would become.

This was who Chaghan had always needed to kill.

“ _Yes.”_ Altan kicked the abandoned staff into his hand. Twisting flames leaped from his shoulders, unfurling to form empyrean wings. “Why are you having such a hard time accepting everything I say?”

Altan advanced, staff spinning in his grasp, and Chaghan vaulted back. He ducked a strike aimed at his head, mind flying.

The Phoenix was right about one thing.

This was not Altan.

This would never be Altan again.

The universe was screaming at Chaghan. Screaming for him to remember his role on this Earth. Screaming for him to finish what he started years ago. Screaming for him to let go of the boy who had shattered his life.

But for once in his life, Chaghan shut out the voices trying to guide him. He didn’t need the gods to show him the way through this.

Chaghan extended a shaking hand, continuing to back away steadily. “I don’t want to have to kill you, Altan.”

“That works out, since you never could.” Altan spun the staff over his head, whipping it around to generate momentum, before ramming it into Chaghan’s sternum, smashing him against a tree so he couldn’t retreat any further.

The breath was knocked from his lungs when Chaghan’s back slammed into the damp bark, connecting with a sickening _crunch._ Whether from the bark or his ribs, Chaghan didn't want to know. By the time he could see through the stars spotting his vision, Altan had already crushed the rod over his chest, pinning him to the trunk. Chaghan’s mouth opened in a soundless scream when the fire licked over his mutilated body.

“Why would you protect Nikan from me?” Altan snarled as Chaghan writhed against him. He pressed closer, nose grazing Chaghan’s. His eyes consisted of pure fire itself. “This world means nothing to you.”

“No.” Chaghan gasped, abandoning his struggle to stare Altan straight in the eye. “No. You’re right.” He straightened up, trying to force as much hatred into his voice as he could, which for Chaghan Suren, was a considerable amount. “I never cared about the fate of this damned Empire. I wouldn’t have batted an eye at the death of your cursed country.”

Altan was so close now that when he spoke, his lips brushed Chaghan’s with every word.

“Then what changed?”

Chaghan squeezed his eyes shut, but it wasn’t to stem his tears. He couldn’t bear the sight of Altan like this. His love may have survived that night on the pier, but although the flames had not taken his life, he had emerged from the ashes a whole new man. Chaghan didn’t know this man at all. He didn’t want to.

“What changed you?” Altan hissed again, twisting the staff at a sharp angle that sent streaks of jagged pain through Chaghan's body.

“You.” Chaghan whispered, like it was the simplest thing in the world. Perhaps it was. “ _You._ ” He lifted his gaze. Stared right into those beautiful, blazing eyes. Clouded pearl facing smoldering fire. “ _Altan_ would have wanted me to defend this. _Altan_ would have fought the gods themselves to save his country. He _did_ fight the gods. He still is. I know it.” Chaghan whispered. “You can burn him with all the fire in your cosmos. But he will still be Altan. You cannot take him.” Chaghan raised a hand up to cup Altan’s jaw, fingers shaking slightly. “He is so much stronger than you ever were.”

Chaghan tilted his head and pressed his lips to Altan’s, kissing the Speerly long and slow, like at the end of the fairytale. But this was not a fairytale. This was Chaghan’s worst nightmare, coming to life. This was the destiny the cosmos had forced upon him, unfolding at last.

Gods do not love monsters.

Well, screw them all. This god does.

Chaghan’s hands had crept into Altan’s hair, and when he drew back, he kept his fingers curled into his midnight locks, clinging to the last part of Altan he could.

“ _You_ changed me.” Chaghan murmured, his grip on Altan’s hair tightening. Chaghan’s eyes fluttered shut again. He didn’t want to see whatever expression Altan wore now. He took a deep, shaking breath. “I had always hoped that I could someday change you.”

And with a wrenching jerk, he snapped Altan’s neck.

They crumpled as one, shattering together. Two children, constantly breaking each other and putting themselves back together for the other. One, finally breaking them both, for the last time.

Chaghan blinked at Altan’s corpse for several seconds, stunned.

Then it all caught up to him, drenching him in a tsunami of blood and tears.

He killed the Phoenix.

He killed Altan.

He killed himself.

And Chaghan collapsed over his god’s lifeless body and screamed Altan’s name to the scarlet sunrise.

**Author's Note:**

> (Mwahaha.)  
> I just needed to inflict some of the tortures authors always do on some people to handle the way R. F. Kuang has emotionally destroyed me.  
> PLEASE NOTE: None of the 'languages' I used are real!! I was having a very difficult time finding good/consistent translation sources and eventually decided I didn't really care and it's just a fantasy story. Although I did learn the meaning of all TPW characters' names, and they're spot on, which is cool! (Like for example, Chaghan + Qara are literally White and Black in Mongolian.) And! Also a lot the of characters were real people, if not shamans or overpowered out-of-control teenagers with a death wish. Which I hadn't known. So also cool.  
> I would love constructive criticism in the comments if anyone has any!! And SOMEBODY PLEASE TALK TO ME ABOUT TBG OH MY GOD. WHAT?! WAS THAT, MISS KUANG?!?! Disappointing lack of Chaghan content but that was made up for. (⊙ˍ⊙)  
> Anyway, I had a great time with this fic and I hope that it made you feel something at least. Please let me know if there are any tags I missed that should be added. Should this be rated Mature? Idk I just went with Teen and Up so tell me if that's wrong, I'm new to this.  
> Also, I created some playlists for all these crazy people a while back that I almost forgot about, but just in case you were interested, here you are: (Sam Tinnesz's [Far From Home (The Raven)](https://open.spotify.com/track/4kH98W7Wqeycg6CzrrX8JP?si=_MAeAzs7SgW9jflJwAxnvQ) is a particularly good song for this fic; I listened to it on loop for hours in drafting.)  
> [CHALTAN🔮🔱The Poppy War](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5zvW7pd7s4bCdat7YDSMcF?si=rsyj9OMcSo-g9eNxNAW-0g)  
> [the moon to his sun🏹surens🔮the poppy war](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Y0gpzkD0cKU00nrzcTJbj?si=lo5G7CEiToK6Nb557HCerA)  
> [THE POPPY WAR🔥🏵](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/57sm75mzC84ArZDfGBrHp8?si=q3xYbkijTsejXQKjGg36XQ)  
>   
> Happy New Year everyone! (And happy early Chinese New Year of the Ox!!) And good riddance, 2020! Don't let the door hit you in the butt on the way out!
> 
> Stay stealthy! Stay healthy!


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